


25 Days of Destiel: Winter Challenge

by Slanguage



Series: Prompts [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Cute, Fluff, Holidays, Love, M/M, Winter, otp challenge, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 20:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 26,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2704769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slanguage/pseuds/Slanguage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of cutesy holiday ficlets based off of the prompts found on this <a href="http://gaytectivesinactive.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge">Tumblr list.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December First: Deck the Halls

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, and welcome to 25 days of Destiel, winter edition!
> 
> I've been wanting to do one of these month-long challenges for a while, so I figured that, of all the months, December was definitely a good one for some major fluff. 
> 
> I'm excited to great to write these amazing prompts, and I hope you guys like them!
> 
> Enjoy!

“Dean.”

“What?”

“Where are the colored lights?”

Dean looked up from where he was sitting Indian style on the floor, fingers wrapped in the lights he was trying to untangle. Cas was in a comparable state of apocalyptic tinsel, which was hanging off of even his eyelashes. It looked like solid, metallic dripping water, like Cas had just been pushed into the ocean and emerged as the Tin Man.

Dean couldn’t help but to smirk at his reflective boyfriend, but Cas was still looking down at the collection of lights and frowning.

“I could’ve sworn we got them down from the attic,” Cas said, sounding flustered. Cas was the kind of person who stressfully micromanaged his way through the winter holidays. Cas had to have everything perfect or else it wasn’t good enough. Dean would have been annoyed if it was anyone else; Cas wore it like a cute personality quirk.

“I’ll go get them,” Dean told him, gesturing for Cas to sit back down when his boyfriend nervously rose with him. “I think I can manage it, Cas. You just get that tinsel figured out.”

“Are you sure?”

Dean nodded confidently when, really, he knew he would be completely lost the second he climbed the ladder into the attic of their craftsman style home just outside of Charleston. But, for the moment, Cas looked like a huge burden had been lifted off of his shoulders and he smiled at Dean with the same wondrous light in his eyes as he did when Dean first kissed him, like he was the most amazing thing in the universe, and Dean was a sap so he didn’t care. He leaned over and kissed Cas on the top of his head before heading up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The second he hit the top of the stairs, the Led Zeppelin on the stereo changed to a Christmas CD. Dean sighed so heavily he could have blown the house down, but kept moving.

The attic was through a trapdoor on the ceiling of their back room, used for storage and Cas’s relatives they don’t like when they come to visit. Dean pulled the string and moved out of the way before he was impaled by the ladder, heaving himself up to the attic. He glanced around.

The attic basically looked like Dean’s higher brain functions—incomprehensively cluttered and filled with cobwebs. The lights were probably somewhere around the same place as higher-level mathematics and, as Dean glanced at the piles of disorganized boxes that were never opened out of laziness after the move two years ago, it became very clear that Dean was in way over his head.

But Dean had never backed down from a challenge. No matter how many mystery boxes.

He took a seat on the floor and pulled the first box to him, flipped the top flaps open, and peered into the contents.

And that’s where Cas found him thirty minutes later—wearing a feathered boa, a pair of giant sunglasses, a pair of leg warmers on his wrists, and a childhood shirt of his that reads ‘I Wuv Hugs’ as a doo rag.

“Dean,” Cas said, sounding disproving and long-suffering.

“I got distracted,” Dean felt the need to say, despite that being abundantly obvious. Cas’s lips started to twitch up into an amused smile even though he looked like he didn’t want Dean to have the satisfaction.

“You’re unbelievable,” Cas replied, but he was laughing. “How did you even find all of this?”

“In this box,” Dean said guiltily, nodding down at it. “I couldn’t resist.”

Cas sunk down next to him, so close that their knees were touching. He reached out and pulled the box next to the one of Dean’s lifelong mistakes closer to him, prying open the flaps.

He made a muffled sound, reaching in and yanking out the top item.

It was a picture frame.

“Oh my god,” Cas said. “It’s from our first Christmas together.”

“No way,” Dean replied, taking off his massive sunglasses and leaning over. Sure enough, in Cas’s hands was a picture of them, arms slung around each other’s necks, grinning widely. They had Santa hats on their heads and a glass of eggnog in their free hands. Cas’s cheeks were flushed, his hair grown too long, and Dean looked like he was a drink away from stripping on the bar to REO Speedwagon. They both had on a goofy sweater, and they both looked the same kind of crazy-happy that Dean felt every morning when he woke up next to Cas.

Dean looked at Cas, but Cas was still looking at the picture, his face softening. Dean leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Cas leaned into him, smiling down at the picture. Dean leaned forward and found the box filled with more pictures, more mementos—pictures of Sam dressed as Santa sans pants on the roof of their mom’s house in Lawrence and Jo from the Christmas she got stuck in a Fischer-Price enclosed wagon, tattered Santa hats that survived an epic fall into an icy lake, paper chains with their initials scribbled on it, a big framed picture of Dean and Cas kissing under a mistletoe . . .

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said. “I have an idea.”

And that’s how Cas and Dean ended up laying together in a blanket fort in the living room, surrounded by walls decorated in images and objects from their past, raw and nostalgic, filled with memories imprinted in love and family and everything that’s right in the world, and Dean held Cas for hours looking at them, thinking about how this Christmas was going to be just another one in the memory books, another memory on the wall, and Dean couldn’t wait until the day where today would just be another story they could look back on with a smile, because everything was perfect, and Dean would never regret a second of all the time he has and will spend with Cas.

They never did find the colored lights.


	2. December Second: Eat Your Heart Out, Hallmark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Making Christmas cards.

The kitchen table was littered with construction paper pieces of all different sizes. Dean’s hands were covered in paper cuts and a pair of scissors was stuck to his thumb with superglue. Dean frowned down at the mayhem before looking up and across the table, raising his eyebrows.

“You know that this is what Hallmark is for, right?”

“That’s so impersonal,” Cas admonished, looking up to make sure Dean could see his frown. “It’s just signatures and personalizing the same message over and over.”

“But that’s exactly what we did last year.”

If looks could have killed, Dean would have been underground long before the dinosaurs. Instead, he just laughed.

“I thought you’d want to do the picture and letter thing this year. I thought your head was going to explode when you saw that Anna went the extra mile.”

Cas’s eye twitched just at the mention of it. “I thought about it.”

“And?”

“And I didn’t want to take a big family picture without Claire,” Cas stated resolutely, shrugging.

Dean didn’t even try to hide his smile. Cas might’ve admitted to Dean that his previous marriage to a lovely girl named Amelia was doomed for all of the obvious reasons, Cas too pressured by a conservative family to rebel like he wanted to, but one thing Dean knew Cas would never regret about it was his daughter, Claire, who was easily the cutest five year old in all existence. And even though Claire still lived in Illinois with her mother, Cas still doted on her, constantly sending her letters and books and stuffed animals and games and clothes, grinning and cooing over every picture Amelia sent to hid cell phone, showing Dean proudly all of the finger paintings she would send him in the mail, and Dean couldn’t have possibly loved him more for it. Cas was a pure-hearted guy, good to the core, and it showed so strongly in how much he loved his daughter.

Dean loved him so much for that.

So he just nodded, reaching for another puffy snowflake sticker, and messily pasting it onto the front of the card he had been nursing for the last at least thousand years by the impatient look on Cas’s face.

“We should take a picture when she’s here for the summer then,” Dean commented, picking up a marker and writing ‘Joanna Beth is a whorebag’ on the front of the card as quickly and unnoticeably as he could, hoping that he could get this one into the already-addressed envelope before Cas noticed. “I mean, we _could_ take a picture when she comes down for Christmas, but she’s growing like a weed and she’s gonna look crazy different by the time we send out the holiday letters next December, so summer should be—”

“Dean,” Cas said, but he was smiling.

Dean licked the seal on the envelope shut, trying not to celebrate so excitedly internally because he didn’t quite understand the look Cas was giving him and figured that was more important. “What?”

Cas looked like he wanted to say a million things, but Dean could read them all in his eyes. Things like _thank you for accepting Claire_ and _thank you for understanding_ and _thank you for wanting her to be here like I do_. There were a thousand emotions on his face, the secrets of the universe hidden in the way he pressed his lips together tight to keep himself from smiling too wide or saying something he thought would just embarrass him. Dean felt too warm, like Cas was the sun and he was standing so close that he was going to explode.

Cas looked like he wanted to say a million things, but he knew Dean could see it on his face and he didn’t have to, so he didn’t. Instead, he just shook his head and reached out, snagging the envelope from Dean’s hands before it could make it into the to-be-mailed pile.

“Stop vandalizing my cards,” Cas told him but, to Dean, it sounded like an _I love you_.

Dean grinned back, and they continued constructing their cards in a silence like angels singing.


	3. December Third: Baby, It's Cold Outside

Cas buried closer to his side, his head in Dean’s chest. Dean rubbing his hand over Cas’s back, trying to produce even a semblance of warmth with the friction, but it wasn’t really working. Cas’s freezing cold feet were still attached to his exposed calves, and Dean could practically feel himself losing blood flow to his feet.

“I told you not to go outside without a coat,” Dean said, because if his little brother taught him anything in life, it was to never hesitate to pull out the old ‘I told you so’. Cas, the littlest brother of six, looked up with a nasty glare.

The effect of his anger was hindered greatly by the bright red nose.

“Hey,” Dean said. “You’re like Rudolf.”

 Cas skipped his usual second step of anger, which was grumbling, and skipped right to step three—throwing the nearest object at Dean. This time, it was a throw pillow, and Dean laughed as it ricocheted off of his face.

“I’m cold,” Cas whined. His hands snaked under Dean’s shirt and pressed against the skin of his back. They were subterranean.

Dean howled in surprise, flinching away. “Ah, no! Stop!”

“No,” Cas grumbled. “You’re being mean to me.”

“How about this? I’ll go light the fire, and make some hot chocolate, and get you some blankets and socks, and I’ll be forgiven. Sound good?”

“But you’re warm,” Cas complained.

Dean raised his eyebrows even if Cas couldn’t see him, waiting. It took another few seconds filled with grumbled complaints muffled against Dean’s chest but, eventually, Cas sighed, consenting to the plan.

Dean kissed his cheek, wincing at the cold of Cas’s skin, before prying himself from Cas’s octopus limbs, getting to his feet and moving to the cubbyholes underneath of the television mounted on the wall, pulling out as many blankets as they had stored there and dumping them directly on top of Cas, who groaned in thanks. Dean couldn’t help but to smile fondly as he walked to the kitchen, starting to gather the ingredients and putting them on the counter before moving back into the living room to flip the switch on the gas fireplace.

The only part of Cas that could be seen through the blankets were his wide blue eyes watching Dean in gratitude. Dean winked at him before heading for the stairs, targeting for the socks and hand-warmers Cas had stored in their bedroom.

It was all Cas’s fault, really. Cas had insisted on walking the few streets away to see his friend Hannah, determined to get a recipe off of her so he could practice it before Dean’s family showed up later in the month, rolling his eyes when Dean had suggested he grab a coat and scarf because “it’s a seven minute walk, Dean, I’ll be fine”. When it had started to snow, Dean had assumed that Cas would just stay at Hannah’s until it let up like a normal person. Turns out, Dean should have questioned his own judgment, because Cas had shown up in his drenched Henley and jeans and Converse, shaking like a leaf, approximately ten minutes later.

Because Cas is an adorable, adorable idiot.

Dean grabbed the alpaca wool socks and the hand-warmer things Cas got at the flea market last year and a cable-knit sweater, snagging a hat off of the hook at the last minute before turning back and taking the steps two at a time. Cas groaned pathetically when Dean wrenched the blankets away, but cooperated when Dean yanked the sweater down over his head, throwing the socks and hand-warmers onto his lap. Dean waited until Cas had righted the sweater before pulling the sock monkey knitted hat over Cas’s mussed hair, his heart nearly breaking at the absolute precious sight of Cas disheveled and blinking up at him. Dean grinned and leaned down to steal a kiss before heading off to the kitchen, humming under his breath as he went.

When Dean returned with the hot chocolate, Cas was looking slightly more like himself and less like an icicle. He was still wrapped in the blanket like a burrito, but there was more color in his face and less in his nose. He smiled gratefully as Dean handed him the cup, immediately scooting up and leaning his head on Dean’s shoulder as he took a seat. Dean leaned his head on Cas’s, wrapping an arm around him as they both took a simultaneous sip of hot chocolate. After a moment, Cas opened the blankets, maneuvering them so Dean could tuck himself under as well. Cas crawled until he was practically in his lap, pressing a soft kiss onto his neck.

“Any better?” Dean asked.

Cas smiled against Dean’s neck, lifting his head enough to press another kiss to the bottom of his jaw. Dean looked down at him, smiling. Cas smiled back sleepily, as if he was dreaming.

“Yeah,” he murmured, taking another sip out of the mug and looking at Dean over the brim like he couldn’t believe his luck. Dean felt his stomach dip, because he would never be able to understand how anyone could ever look at someone like him like that. Cas leaned over and set the mug on the living room table before curling tighter around Dean, winding his arms around his neck. Dean smiled, setting his own mug on a side table, before curling his arms around Cas in kind.

Cas let out a contented sigh. Dean smiled against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Cas murmured, kissing his neck again. “This is much, much better.”


	4. December Fourth: Five Golden Rings

“Charlie, this is serious,” Dean snapped as Charlie broke into a run, diving at a giant plastic candy cane and spinning around it like she starred in _Singing in the Rain_. Charlie detached herself from the faux candy, giggling hysterically at the wide-eyed children staring at her like she had just ruined Christmas, and returned to Dean’s side, grinning that way she did when she totally knew she wasn’t in any trouble. Dean kind of hated her. But not really.

When Dean’s mother told him she was pregnant with his baby brother Sam, Dean had originally told her to take it back to the store. If Charlie had ever been actually birthed by Mary, Dean probably would have just summed it up as the work of Satan and killed it with fire.

She must have been able to see his thoughts on his face because she burst out laughing again, leaning over to hug one of his arms tightly with both of hers, grinning.

“You love me and you know it,” she teased, wagging her eyebrows.

But Dean was on edge. So on edge, that he snapped, “You’re adopted.”

Thankfully, Charlie deflected insults the same way people swatted away flies, because she barely blinked before replying, “I know I am. It comes with the whole orphan thing. What’s got you so huffy? Are you really _that_ worried about what to get Cas?”

“I guess,” Dean said uncertainly.

“Well, don’t be. You could probably get him horse manure and he would still call you the greatest human on earth.”

“Gross.”

“Exactly. Now, don’t lie to your favorite sister. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“How’s Dorothy?”

“That’s a horrible change of subject but I can see your incoming panic attack, so fine. Dorothy is great. We’re both great. We’re thinking about adopting a cat next week.”

“I thought Dorothy didn’t like cats.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “She’s a total liar. She melts at the sight of any adorable creature in need of adoption and reliable meals.”

“So that’s the situation you have going on?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Charlie told her cheerfully, smiling apologetically at a mother with small children who made a choked noise as she walked by, obviously having heard them. The woman quickly guided her children away. Charlie didn’t care enough to feel bad, so she just turned back to Dean with a look that told him he was not going to be able to get away with this that easily.

“So, present for Cas,” she established their objective out loud, clapping her hands together as she glanced around the mall at the collection of stores all decorated for the occasion. “What were you thinking? No more sweaters. And don’t puss out and get him a cat like he wants, because that would totally be copying me. Ha, puss out. Get it?”

Dean looked down at his shoes nervously. Charlie’s spidy sense tingled, and she just stared at him.

“Dean,” she said, disbelieving.

“I,” he started, and then something lodged in his throat, and he had to clear it in order to breathe. “Charlie, I’m gonna ask him to marry me.”

“On Christmas morning?” she gasped.

Dean nodded, suddenly feeling a little sick.

There was a brief moment of silence. And then, Charlie started screaming.

She ran at Dean like a bulldozer, throwing herself at him and circling her arms around his neck in a tight hold, the screaming moving to directly into his ear which was not pleasant, especially once he had already stumbled back and slammed into the wall from the force. But Charlie just kept screaming, too excited to even notice that mall security had appeared, poking at the edges of the crowd to see what the problem was. Dean met his eyes and smiled apologetically. A short security guy with a lot of scruff who looked like he would destroy the world for fun scowled back at him, backing away and disappearing back into the throng of people.

“Charlie,” Dean chastised when she didn’t stop screaming.

“I’m just so happy!” she shrieked, squeezing his neck again. Dean gasped, pretty sure he was dying.

“Can’t breathe,” he whimpered.

“Oh hush,” she whispered back, hugging him tighter. “I’m so happy for you, Dean. So, _so_ freaking happy. And kinda proud. You had like forty thousand daddy issues when I met you.”

“Thanks,” he replied dryly.

Charlie gave him one last squeeze before letting go, dropping back down to her feet and grabbing his hand as her head wildly looked around for the nearest jewelry store. “I’m gonna rub this so hard in Sam’s face later,” she informed him as she spotted one and started to drag him roughly behind her through the crowd. Dean couldn’t help but to laugh.

“He would’ve told me to get something with diamonds on it,” Dean said, shuddering at the thought. “I can’t trust him.”

“Good handmaiden,” Charlie praised him as they reached the counter, turning to the salesperson hovering on the other side and beaming. “We’re gonna need to see some dude wedding bands, jewelry man. My best friend here is finally proposing to the idiot that loves him.”

Dean sighed, almost wishing he could say it wasn’t worth it to have Charlie’s friendship, but he knew he would be lying.

They looked at five gold rings. But, in the end, there was a choice, and only one remained.

~*~

If he thought he was nervous going to the store, it didn’t even begin to compare to when he had to go home.

When he walked through the door, it was to the sound of a Christmas movie playing on the television— _Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ , Cas’s favorite. Dean immediately felt his mouth go dry, and his hands started to shake. He wanted to shove them into his pockets, but he was terrified of the ring box somehow accidentally falling out or something else equally as horrific, so he didn’t. He just hung up his coat and his scarf and ducked into the living room, following the noise.

Cas was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his brow furrowed in concentration as he cut up wrapping paper, a present for Claire sitting in the paper. There was already a small collection of wrapped items that Dean recognized from Cas having been storing them in their bedroom closet sitting off to the side, pristinely covered in colored paper. Cas looked up and beamed at him, and Dean felt like he couldn’t breathe for a moment, because Cas was so fucking beautiful and he didn’t know how he could possibly have gotten this lucky.

“That took forever,” Cas remarked, glancing around. “Where’s the bag?”

“Charlie’s,” Dean lied. “Where you won’t be able to sneak a peak.”

Cas sighed heavily, and then grinned. “Wanna sit and watch the movie while I finish this up?” he asked, gesturing toward the couch with an incline of his head, his hands still filled with tape and scissors and string. “Keep me company?”

Dean could never say no to Cas, and he would never want to. So Dean immediately plopped down next to Cas and pulled the nearest toy to him, a Barbie doll, and reached for one of the discarded rolls of wrapping paper. Cas’s gaze softened for a moment before he smiled thankfully, leaning over and kissing Dean softly before turning back to the present, folding the first corner. Dean watched Cas for a moment, smiling to himself, the ring like a burning promise in his pocket, before he got to work, both of them working in a companionable silence as Rudolf saved Christmas on the screen. And Dean had never loved Cas more than he did in that moment.


	5. December Fifth: O, Christmas Tree

The trees all looked the same to Dean, but not to Cas, who held firm to his belief that a Christmas could be so much better with the use of a perfect tree as the forefront. Dean, who’d had a plastic tree for the years of his life in between leaving home and meeting Cas, mostly mourned having to endlessly clean pine needles from the floor. Cas had called him a Grinch more than once, but Dean’s opinion hadn’t really been changed. Which is why, on these days in the first week of December when they got around to it, Dean just kind of hung back and let Cas make all of the decisions.

No matter what Sam said, it definitely wasn’t because he was whipped, either.

“How about this one?” Cas asked, tugging on Dean’s sleeve to get his attention. Dean blinked, coming back into focus as he looked up at the tree.

“It’s a little crooked,” Dean told him honestly.

Cas sighed.

“But it’s still a great tree,” Dean immediately backtracked earnestly. Cas let out a startled laugh, taken aback by Dean’s chagrin, and just bumped their shoulders together. Dean took that as a sign he wasn’t sleeping on the couch tonight for insulting Cas’s chosen tree, and he relaxed a little.

“It might be a tight fit in the living room,” Cas admitted, staring up at the top.

“The angel’s halo might be scraping the ceiling.”

“And we may have to cut a couple of the branches down a little bit.”

“Yeah or else it’ll break some windows.”

“The tree skirt isn’t big enough.”

“I’m going to be sweeping up needles for the next two months.”

“We don’t have to get it.”

“It’s perfect.”

“Yeah?” Cas asked uncertainly, turning to look at Dean like he was waiting for him to laugh and tell him he was joking, but Dean wouldn’t do that. They both knew that but, sometimes, Cas wasn’t so sure, always so afraid of this going wrong, and Dean had had a fucked up enough life to know that feeling. So he just looped an arm around Cas’s shoulders and pulled him closer, until he could feel the warmth of his body through their windbreakers, and he leaned down to kiss his freezing cold skin, rubbing his arm.

“Yeah,” Dean said, inclining his head. “Wanna go lock it in?”

“Sure.” Cas moved when Dean started walking to the main desk area, where two harried young men were scrambling around disorganized chaos of papers and trying to make sense of it. Cas cleared his throat halfway there and asked, “Hey, Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Dean asked, turning his head to look at him. But although Cas just shook his head and smiled, Dean knew what that meant. So he just shrugged and tried not to look like Cas’s happiness was his only priority and mumbled, “Sure thing, Cas.”

They drove their giant crooked tree home on the top of Cas’s Suburban and stood it up proudly in the living room. It leaned to the left, and sagged a little on the bottom branches, but Cas grinned every time he looked at it, so Dean had nothing bad to say.


	6. December Sixth: The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

The angel’s halo did, in fact, scrape the ceiling from its spot on top of the tree. But, as far as Dean and Cas were concerned, it fit, so it stayed.

“This tree is a lot bigger than I thought it was,” Cas admitted after weaving three strings of garland around the branches, and still needing at least four more. He looked at Dean, wide-eyed to the point he almost seemed alarmed. “Should we cut off more branches?”

“Nah,” Dean replied, shrugging. “I think we’ll be able to swing it. Pass me that ornament box, will you?”

Cas did, while saying sheepishly, “Thanks for helping me.”

“Cas,” Dean stated, exhaustedly, because he would never be able to understand Cas’s gratitude for the simple things that just came with loving him. “Stop thanking me, alright? You don’t even have to ask me to do this kind of stuff, you know.”

“I know,” Cas replied, shrugging uncertainly and turning back to focus on the tree. “Still. Thanks.”

“Anytime, crazy,” Dean murmured as he leaned over Cas to put a red ornament with white snowflakes painted on front and center. “Where’s the ornament Claire made? She’ll be pissed if it’s not where everyone can see it.”

Cas laughed in memory of the horrifically upset protests Claire made last year when she discovered her favorite ornament was too high up for her to see it clearly, and Cas immediately ducked into the nearest box and pulled it out—a little reindeer she made out of popsicle sticks and googly eyes. It even had a little blue ribbon tied messily around its little stick-neck. Claire had made it when she was three and gave it to Cas immediately. Dean could still remember her adorably high-pitched voice and her sassy expression framed by blonde pigtails as she scoffed, “I know _some people_ will appracate art.”

 Dean had never known a three year old who knew sarcasm, even if she hadn’t quite yet gotten used to the word “appreciate” yet.

Cas set it in the middle of the tree, right by Dean’s red snowflake addition. They both took a moment to stare at the tree, half-decorated and looking like a tilted hot mess with its angel topper scraping the ceiling and the tree skirt too small. Cas and Dean looked at each other, eyebrows up, and then simultaneously burst out laughing.

“This is the saddest tree I’ve seen in my entire life,” Cas laughed, leaning on Dean as he clutched at his sides, gasping in air. Dean let out another peel of laughter, unable to help himself, and leaned back on Cas.

“It is a little sad,” Dean admitted despite himself, laughing. “It’ll probably look better when it’s done.”

It didn’t. Two hours later, garland and holly and tinsel and warm yellow lights and ornaments later, and the tree was still looking a little worse for wear, if a lot more complete now that everything was on it. Cas had stuffed Claire’s presents under the tree already to give it a little bit more Christmas effect. The stockings were now hung over the fire, and the furniture had been moved in order to make room for Christmas.

Cas looked at the tree for a long moment before sighing. “Good enough.”

“I like it,” Dean admitted, turning his head crooked and squinting his eyes. “It looks very homemade, I guess. Less like a Bloomingdales window display and more like a good old-fashioned Christmas, you know?”

“That’s a nice way to say it totally sucks.”

“Does not.”

“Does too.”

“Cas.”

“Dean.”

Dean stared at him. Cas knew that look.

“No,” he started to say, laughter burst through his lips at the same time that Dean dove at him, catching him at the waist and tackling him into the sofa, making laughter bubble loudly up to the ceiling, over the crackling of the fire and the soft hum of the stereo, always playing in their home. Dean laughed, sprawled on top of Cas, and ignored when the other man grumbled in fake protest and tried to wiggle out from under him unsuccessfully. Dean hooked his arms around Cas even tighter, squeezing them together as they laughed together, the rumble of Cas’s chest under Dean’s cheek the most amazing feeling.

“What was that?” Dean asked teasingly, looking up at Cas and tilting his head like he was trying to hear something far away. “I didn’t quite hear that. Did you say, ‘best Christmas tree ever’?”

“Dean,” Cas complained, but he was laughing. “Let me up!”

“I didn’t hear you say the magic phrase.”

“Morning sex?” Cas tried.

Dean rolled his eyes, laughing. “Not this time, Novak. Try again.”

“Shower sex?”

“Now you’re just objectifying me.”

“Dean,” Cas objected, laughing harder.

“Come on. Say it. Best. Christmas tree. Ever.”

“But it’s crooked—”

“Cas, I can sit here all day if I need to. I don’t have to work all weekend.”

“Dean.”

“Cas.”

Cas sighed long-sufferingly, but he was grinning too wide, and he was running his fingers through Dean’s hair, and Dean could see how much his boyfriend appreciated it when Cas repeated, “Best Christmas tree ever, okay? Now can I get up?”

“Will you make apple pie tomorrow if I do?”

“Dean!” Cas laughed.

“Please?”

“Fine,” Cas told him, pushing his shoulders, but Dean shifted only so they were both lying on their sides on the couch, facing each other.  Dean curled his hand in Cas’s shirt, tugging him impossibly closer, and Cas tucked one of his legs in between Dean’s and wriggled closer still, tilting his head so their foreheads were touching. Cas smelled like peppermint. Dean closed his eyes, his lips turning up into a smile.

Cas’s fingers moved rhythmically, soothingly through his hair. Dean relaxed against the touch, tilting his head until their noses rubbed together.

“I love you,” Cas whispered like a kiss. Dean opened his eyes, engulfed in blue, and smiled up at Cas, feeling like his heart would burst. He thought about the ring hiding in the glove compartment in the Impala, thought about just asking the question now, but didn’t.

All he said was, “I love you, too.”

And he wished there were words enough to explain just how much he does.


	7. December Seventh: Meet Me Under the Mistletoe

It turned out that Cas had a plan for their lazy Sunday.

Dean had a policy where he didn’t bother getting up on his days off before there was a double digit in the first number unless absolutely necessary, so, at 10:01, he felt the bed next to him dip. Cas was an early riser, one of those horrific morning people who are humming in the kitchen by seven thirty, so it wasn’t unusual that Dean woke up to Cas poking him awake. Dean groaned, swatting his hand away sleepily and trying to inch away from him. Cas laughed and poked him again.

“Dean,” Cas called. “Dean, what’s that?”

“Hmph,” Dean mumbled back, reluctantly prying his eyes open and squinting against the light in the room, obviously from the blinds Cas had drawn back. Dean had to blink a few times to adjust to the lighting but eventually managed to squint up at Cas.

Cas was purposefully looking at something over Dean’s head. Dean, confused, followed his gaze, tilting his head back to see.

Mistletoe was hanging over his head. He turned to look back at Cas with his eyebrows raised.

Cas was looking back down at him expectantly.

“Morning breath,” Dean replied.

Cas’s expression didn’t change.

Dean rolled his eyes but grinned as he grabbed Cas by the front of his shirt and tugged him down, pressing their lips together hard, twice, three times. Cas shifted so he was lying on top of him, his hands on either side of Dean’s head, ducking down to kiss at his neck. Dean laughed, squirming, because his boyfriend totally knew he was ticklish, and he could feel Cas grinning against his neck.

“Brunch is ready downstairs,” Cas told him as he pulled away, but not far. He leaned down for another quick kiss before pushing away from the bed, pausing only to take the mistletoe back before whisking out of the room. Dean blinked after him, a lazy smile on his lips.

“Alright,” he remarked, heaving himself up out of bed.

~*~

Dean was still sitting at the kitchen table, his feet kicked up on one of the chairs as he finished a cup of coffee, an abandoned book of Cas’s from the kitchen counter open in his other hand, when the mistletoe appeared again. One second, Cas had been rinsing out his own coffee mug in the sink, and then he was hovering over Dean with a self-satisfied grin, dangling the mistletoe over both of their heads. Dean looked up and laughed.

“You’re ridiculous,” he accused with a smile.

“I think you mean awesome,” Cas corrected, leaning down to steal his lingering kiss.

~*~

There was already another mistletoe hanging in the garage when Dean stepped into it to work on the Impala.

Cas, like clockwork, appeared a few minutes later.

~*~

Ten kisses later and seriously, where the hell did Cas find all of this mistletoe?

~*~

It wasn’t exactly difficult to understand Cas’s plan and the motives behind it, but it did take Dean some time to think of what he could do as a counter plan. He considered taking some of the mistletoe back and ambushing Cas at his own game, but he also considered just tackling Cas again and kissing the hell out of him because Dean’s chest couldn’t handle how cute it was. In the end, he didn’t do either.

After dinner and after dishes and after pie, Dean ended up sprawled out on the couch, yawning while a _Star Trek_ episode he had memorized back in his teens played on the television, Cas curled up in the recliner with the same book Dean had found on the counter. Dean stretched out until his feet were hanging off of the edge, pretending to watch the TV but really watching Cas. Cas, oblivious, kept reading his book, his eyes flying back and forth across the page.

“Cas?” Dean called, and Cas looked up, his finger automatically reaching to mark his spot. Dean scooted over on the couch, making room, and gestured his offer. A happy smile curled on Cas’s lips as he untangled from his own limbs, abandoning the book on the chair and wiggling up to Dean, hands curling into his shirt to keep himself from falling over the edge. Dean curled his arms around him protectively, keeping him on the couch.

Cas sighed contentedly. Dean pressed a kiss onto his forehead.

“You know, you don’t need mistletoe as an excuse to kiss me.”

“It’s _tradition_ ,” Cas replied like Dean was the most exhausting person in the world to hold a comprehensive conversation with, peeking up at him with those hypnotic blue eyes. “It’s for festivity’s sake.”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.”

Cas batted his eyelashes innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dean stared at Cas. Cas stared at Dean.

Dean arched an eyebrow.

Cas widened his eyes innocently.

And then they started making out on the couch like hormonal teenagers.


	8. December Eighth: Frosty Went on a Bender

To start off with, there was not a lot of snow on the ground. At all. It had probably snowed an inch and everywhere there was muddy snow, patches of the ground still visible in patches underneath, but nature wasn’t going to stop Cas when he was on a mission, so Dean reluctantly folded when his boyfriend bullied him into venturing into the chill and constructing a snowman in the backyard.

Cas was determined at times to the point of hard-headedness. So, sometimes, Dean just sat back and let him do what he thought was right as long as it wasn’t hurting anyone. And constructing sad little snowmen in the backyard wasn’t hurting anyone or anything other than Cas’s feelings.

“The snow is all mushy,” Cas complained sadly, deflating. “I hoped it would be better this time of year.”

“We’re in the Carolinas, babe, not the Midwest,” Dean consoled him, patting him on the back and looking down at the Cas’s sad little attempt. “Give it a few more weeks. Maybe we’ll have a white Christmas when Claire’s here and she can show you how it’s done.”

“That’s the problem,” Cas sighed. “I haven’t had a Christmas yet with Claire with enough snow for a snowman, and the weatherman says this is going to be the year. I don’t know how to help Claire make one.”

“Well, you’ve got the basics down,” Dean told him encouragingly.

At once, they both looked down into the new addition to the backyard. Frosty the Neighborhood Drunk and Disorderly tilted dangerously to the right, some of his midsection already dripping. His head was lopsided and the sticks poking out of his middle were way too big, entirely disproportional to his toddler-sized mound of snow. Cas had given its face only eyes, so two pebbles took up the majority of his face. They had forgone a hat completely for the sake of their own sanity, considering their potential epic guilt at giving life to this crooked like snow creature.

Cas shook his head, stuffing his hands into his pocket. “Maybe we should try again when we have good snow.”

“I think this is a good start,” Dean told him encouragingly, but Dean knew if it was any other person beside Cas standing next to the little snowman, Dean would have laughed so hard his sides would have split. And it was still a lot funny, don’t get him wrong—Dean was supportive, but he still had moments when he was a complete asshole. But this was Cas’s first Christmas with Claire since she was a newborn, and Dean didn’t want to make Cas feel unnecessarily angry or upset.

Especially if it was over a snowman that looked like it had one too many Bacardi shots.

“We can try it later,” Dean offered, shrugging. “You saw last year how hard it snowed here. It was horrible.”

Cas made a sound like he was acknowledging Dean wasn’t wrong.

“Redo, then,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows when Cas turned to look at him. “When it snows, we’ll do a redo. And even if that doesn’t work—Cas, I promise you that Claire would so rather kick your ass at making snowmen than know you’re better than her at something. She has way too much of you in her.”

Cas let out a laugh, almost like it was on accident, before he sighed, ducking his head and conceding to Dean’s logic. He let Dean grab his gloved hand and drag him back into the warmth, and later he laughed for three straight minutes when Dean sat down with a serious, straight face and told him that he found training videos before slapping a DVD of _Frosty the Snowman_ on the sofa between them.

It wasn’t until that night when they were laying tucked into bed that Cas murmured, “Dean. Look.”

Dean cracked open an eye and followed Cas’s gaze to the window, where snow was suddenly falling in sheets, nearly erasing the whole world in white. Dean snorted and curled closer still, tucking his cold hands against the warmth of Cas’s back.

“Told you so,” Dean mumbled.


	9. December Ninth: The Best Time to Wear Ugly Sweaters

“Cas,” Dean said, halting suddenly. “Don’t move.”

“What?” Cas asked, instantly alarmed. Dean stood in the entrance to the living room, staring at him with wide eyes, clutching a mug of coffee for dear life.

“There’s something monstrous on your chest,” Dean said. “And your back. And your arms. Cas, baby, I told you not to go into Goodwill.”

“Dean,” Cas said disapprovingly, but he was starting to laugh. “There is nothing wrong with this sweater.”

“There is _everything_ wrong with that sweater.”

Cas puffed out his chest indignantly, which didn’t work primarily because of the baggy red and green monstrosity he was wearing, complete with individually tinkling mini-bells and giant stitched reindeer. “My Twitter followers like it.”

“Your Twitter followers are resulting to flattery in hopes that you’ll crank out a new bestseller for them to read in half the time it usually takes.”

Cas didn’t comment. Instead, he just lifted his phone up, and took another picture.

“If you keep being mean to me, I’m tweeting that horrible candid,” Cas informed him of his ultimatum calmly. “Or, if you don’t wear the sweater I got you.”

Dean’s face went blank.

“Cas,” he admonished.

“Not a word,” Cas told him, singsong and way too pleased with himself as he reached under the couch pillow beside him and pulled out a bundle of cloth, throwing it at Dean. “This one’s yours and you’re gonna wear it.”

Dean stared at him in horror.

“Please?” Cas added, widening his eyes innocently.

“What’s in it for me?” Dean demanded.

Cas gave him a flat expression. “Dean.”

“Fine,” Dean mumbled moodily, completely whipped and knowing it, reaching down to set his coffee onto the side table. “Do I have to wear this all night?”

“At least for a picture,” Cas told him.

Dean held it up, finally taking a good look at it for the first time. He instantly groaned.

It was giant, red, and stitched with Santa and elves.

Santa’s hat even had a small jingle bell on it.

“This is the worst,” Dean groaned.

“Stop complaining,” Cas told him, making rushing motions with his hand. “Please put it on? For me?”

“You owe me.”

“Sure,” Cas replied dryly, and Dean knew he was only doing this for the sake of his own relationship.

He tugged it down over his head, slipping in his arms and positioning the garment. It was scratchy, but he couldn’t deny that he was getting warmer with the thick texture added against the elements. Dean pulled awkwardly at the hem before spreading his arms out wide, raising his eyebrows. Cas, who hadn’t stopped watching him, was grinning and so obviously trying not to laugh.

“It suits you,” Cas said.

“You’re the worst _ever_.”

“You love me.”

“If I didn’t love you, I would have burned it in the fireplace right now. Can we talk the picture and be done with it?”

“Fine,” Cas sighed. “Since you were a good sport and actually put the thing on, I’ll give you this.”

But Dean could tell something was off, just slightly. He paused, narrowing his eyes at Cas as he pushed himself off of the couch. Cas turned to face him only to find Dean staring at him like he was something under a microscope.

“You think I’m being a partypooper,” Dean accused.

“Not the words I would’ve used,” Cas admitted, starting to smirk, “but you’re ruining my buzz.”

“Promise not to tell anyone this on pain of death?”

“Sure.”

“I kinda like it. It’s warm. Hideous, but warm.”

Cas laughed, crossing the room to throw his arm around Dean, positioning his camera in front of them. Dean heaved a sigh before putting on a smile, matching Cas’s beaming expression in the front face cam, and Cas snapped the picture, making sure it cut low enough to show all of their sweaters. Cas nodded his approval, immediately attaching it to a text.

“What are you doing?”

“Sending this to Sam. And your mother. And Amelia. I’ll probably show Charlie and Benny too. Maybe even Chuck and Anna.”

“You are an absolute traitor.”

“Sent,” Cas said, and looked up to dimple at him.

“You’re gonna pay for this, Novak,” Dean vied. “I swear, you’re totally gonna pay.”

“Sure thing,” Cas said before ducking closer, pressing his lips against Dean’s throat. Dean knew what he was doing, knew that Cas knew Dean knew what he was doing, but Dean didn’t feel it in himself enough to care. He just laughed, tugging Cas closer as Cas kissed up and down his neck, throwing his arms around Dean’s shoulders. Dean felt his heart swelling. He couldn’t stop smiling. 

“Fine,” Dean said, rubbing his hands up and down the scratchy fabric of Cas’s back.

“You’ll keep it?”

“Yeah.”

“Will you wear it on Christmas?”

“No.”

“But you won’t burn it.”

“I will keep it with yours so you can be sure no harm has come to it.”

“Will you wear it to parties so we’ll match?”

“You’re pushing it.”

Cas laughed and drew his arms tighter around his shoulders, burrowing his head into Dean’s chest. Dean didn’t bother to smother his smile, didn’t bother to try to ignore the feeling of his heart hammering in his chest.

“Am I forgiven yet?” Cas murmured into Dean’s shirt.

“Nothing to be forgiven for, you dork,” Dean replied, pressing a kiss onto the top of his head. “Wanna go outside and try for another snowman now?”

“In a minute,” Cas murmured, and just clung to him harder, not letting go.

“Okay,” Dean whispered back, and didn’t let go either.


	10. December Tenth: Snickerdoodles

Claire was going to be there in two days, and it showed in Cas’s newfound mania.

“Do you think she likes gingerbread or snickerdoodles more?” Cas demanded frantically about two milliseconds after Dean walked through the door from a particularly exhausting day at the automotive engineering firm he worked in, not even giving Dean a minute to kick off his snow boots before dragging him by the hand into the kitchen, where the entire kitchen tabletop was covered in piles of different cookies. “I also have sugar cookies and chocolate chip and peanut butter. I need you to taste test.”

“How long have you been baking?” Dean demanded, a mix between alarmed and impressed as Cas shoved one of each cookie at him. “Did you make these all by scratch?”

“Yes to both,” Cas answered half-nonsensically, turning back to the binder where he kept all of the recipes he wanted to try. Half of the loose-leaf papers he had piled on top were in a woman’s handwriting—Hannah’s, if Dean used process of elimination. Dean looked down at the stack of cookies in front of him.

“You might be overthinking this,” Dean found the courage to tell him, picking up a sugar cookie with two fingers and shoving the entirety into his mouth. “This one is good,” Dean added to inform him of his opinion around a mouthful of cookie.

“I want to make sure everything is ready,” Cas stated, turning around to lean on the counter and grimace at Dean. “I already feel like a shitty enough dad for not being close enough to see her every week. I just—I feel like she’s growing away from me, you know? I feel like I have to do something to make her happy. Like a bribe to get her to love me.”

“You don’t need to bribe her,” Dean reminded him. “And I told you that I could look for a job around Chicago and—”

“Dean,” Cas reprimanded, crossing the space in between them to plant himself on Dean’s lap, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Dean reached out and immediately put his hands on Cas’s hips, looking up at Cas with a familiar feeling of guilt and self-hatred churning like a tempest under his skin. Cas, sensing this, moved his hands to cup Dean’s face, forcing him to look up at him. “Stop doing that.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Dean assured him, lying effortlessly because Dean knew it _had_ to be a big deal, right? “It wouldn’t be difficult to relocate. We could get a house somewhere around Joliet or something and we would only be like an hour away from Claire, you could see her every day if you wanted to—”

“Dean, stop,” Cas told him with a voice that left no room for argument, blue eyes staring intensely down at Dean. Dean’s hands tightened on Cas’s hips as he looked away guiltily. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, but I’ll keep doing it until you believe me, alright? I love you, and I love this town and this house and all of our friends here, and I have no intention of leaving it any time soon.”

“But Claire—”

“Is one of the most important people in my life,” Cas answered, raising an eyebrow as Dean glanced nervously up to look at him. “And so are you. This is where we live, so this is where we live. End of discussion. If you ever want to move to Illinois for _you_ , and not for me, then we’ll talk about it, but I’m not even going to listen if you start mentioning sacrificing your entire life here for me, okay? Are you listening to me?”

“Of course I am, Cas,” Dean murmured, feeling thoroughly chastised. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I _am_ happy,” Cas told him, leaning down to kiss Dean’s forehead through a smile. “God, Dean, you make me _so_ happy. Stop doubting yourself about that, okay? Right now, I don’t want to be anywhere else but here.”

Dean nodded slowly, hesitantly tracing his hands up from Cas’s hips to edge up his back, and Cas immediately relaxed into the touch, leaning into Dean and tightening his hold on his shoulders, tilting his head until it was leaning on top of Dean’s. Dean held onto him softly, like Cas was breakable and precious, which Dean couldn’t help but to think of him as every once in a while.

Dean had never loved a person as much as he loved Cas. It helped soothe his doubts in these moments where Dean could clearly see that Cas felt the same way.

“Keep eating those damn cookies,” Cas mumbled into his hair after a long moment of silence, seeming to remember what his original task had been, and Dean laughed before freeing one of his hands and grabbing for the first cookie he found on the tray, immediately taking an obedient bite out of it.

Dean chewed once, and then frowned down at the snickerdoodle.

“What?” Cas asked, alarmed, once he saw Dean’s face. “Did I mess it up that badly?”

“Whose recipe is this?” Dean asked instead of answering. “Hannah’s?”

Cas nodded worriedly.

“Oh, babe, no way,” Dean said. “No _way_ am I letting you bake snickerdoodles that aren’t my mom’s. They’re the _best_ , Cas. Are you telling me you’ve never had them?”

“I don’t think so,” he admitted, face smoothing over into a smile now that he knew he wasn’t in trouble—or wasn’t needing to take Dean to the emergency room to get his stomach pumped from poisonous sweets. “Do you know the recipe?”

“ _Know_ it?” Dean demanded, dramatically aghast just for the hell of it, and it paid off by the big grin on Cas’s face at his theatrics. “Cas, this is an injustice that I haven’t made them for you. Get your gorgeous ass off of me and grab an apron, babe. It’s time for a Winchester Christmas up in this bitch.”

Cas laughed loudly before kissing Dean’s face and hopping off of him, moving dutifully to grab some free bowls, the ingredients all spread out over the kitchen but out, and Dean took the time to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt before grabbing them and planting them next to the small space of counter Cas cleared for them, winding his arms around Cas’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder.

“Are you ready to make the best cookies of your life?” Dean asked.

“Are you ready to stop being so overdramatic?” Cas retorted in kind.

Dean rolled his eyes even though Cas couldn’t see him, squeezing his waist. “Okay—we need butter, eggs, shortening, and sugar . . .”


	11. December Eleventh: Peace on Earth

“This is so cliché,” Dean mumbled as soft as a breath as he tilted his head back, Cas smirking as he kissed down Dean’s neck. The fire was crackling pleasantly, warming the room, adding to the cliché, but that was about as far as Dean cared about it when he had Cas straddling him, tracing fingers down over his chest. Dean wiggled, but Cas refused to budge, because he’s a horrible tease.

“Are you honestly complaining right now?” Cas laughed shakily as he paused his barrage of kisses, nudging his nose against Dean’s jaw. Dean reached up and grabbed Cas’s face, pulling him up to his lips.

“Not complaining,” he murmured, pressing soft kiss after soft kiss onto Cas’s lips. “Making out in front of an open flame, though?”

“We’re on the couch,” Cas deadpanned, pulling away far enough to make sure Dean saw him roll his eyes. He ran his hands through Dean’s hair, his eyes on his lips. “And neither of us have been drinking, so there’s little chance of flammability.”

Dean laughed around the kiss Cas captured him in, reaching up to stroke his hands down Cas’s back, entirely at peace.

Dean had only been through the door long enough to eat some heated up leftovers before Cas was on him, kissing him like a crazy person and wrapping his limbs around him like the octopus he is. Dean had barely been able to stumble backward long enough to fall onto the couch, dragging Cas down on top of him. He hadn’t even been able to get out of his slacks and button-up.

Dean tried really hard to think of himself as a functioning adult but, most of the time, he was just faking it until he could make it. He had the nice clothes and the car and the house and the amazing partner, but Dean tended to feel like he was a still a sixteen year old boy shoved into a body that has to go to work and pay bills.

But then there were moments like this that made him somehow feel like even more of a teenager. Like, honestly. If someone had told Dean that he would be necking a hot guy on a couch when he was closing in on thirty, he would have been a lot more open to adulthood.

Cas hummed as he pulled away from the kiss, smiling. His lips were red and swollen and Dean’s heart always hammered in his chest when he saw it. To him, there was nothing possibly more sexy than a kiss-swollen Cas, and Dean immediately tugged him down to kiss him even harder, a hand on either side of Cas’s face, cradling it possessively as he licked into his mouth.

“Totally not cliché,” Cas murmured against his lips the second they had to break apart to get air. Dean bit Cas’s bottom lip softly, grinning.

“Okay,” Dean whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Definitely not.”

“No more talking,” Cas declared, surging into Dean, and Dean thought that was a fantastic idea.


	12. December Twelfth: Claire the Red Nosed Meddler

Claire was just as much of a sassy daddy’s girl as Dean remembered. It was fantastic.

“Can we have popcorn for dinner?” she asked probably about ten minutes after they got her through the door, freshly delivered to them by airport employees. She had run at Cas with her pink and white polka dotted snow boots and bright pink jacket and pigtails, and Cas had smiled brighter than the sun. The second he set her down, she lunged at Dean and wrapped her arms tight around him, surprising apparently only Dean, and insisted that he give her a piggyback to the “’mpala”. Dean gladly obliged, and egged on her teasing of her dad the whole way home. Cas kept sighing every two minutes, but he was smiling, totally happy, so Dean encouraged Claire to keep going.

Dean had never loved a child more. She had so much sarcasm in that tiny little body that she was practically bursting with it.

Cas frowned over at Claire, setting her suitcase and Dora the Explorer backpack by the stairs. “Popcorn isn’t dinner, Claire,” he told her. “It’s a snack.”

“Dean?” she asked, immediately turning to him with big, wide puppy dog eyes that looked way too much like her father’s. Dean was immediately wrapped around her pinky finger. Damn it.

“Uh,” Dean replied.

“No,” Cas sternly told them both, raising his eyebrows. “I’m making macaroni and cheese. It should be ready in twenty minutes.”

Claire groaned like she was entirely sure she was going to starve to death by then.

Dean couldn’t help but to laugh, even if Cas shot him a look that clearly told him not to encourage her. Dean flopped down on the sofa and grabbed for the remote, Claire clambering up onto the cushions and sitting with her legs crossed. She was so tiny only her feet and ankles dangled over the edge when she sat all the way back against the couch, mimicking Dean. His heart stuttered.

“What shall it be, C?” Dean asked, nodding to the cartoon on television. “Wanna watch this, or a Christmas movie?”

“Rudolf!” she immediately cried, grinning with her missing two front teeth. “It’s my favorite!”

“No way,” Dean said, widening his eyes. “It’s your dad’s favorite, too, remember?”

“Yeah!” she cried, beaming. “I like it because Daddy likes it!”

“You hear that, Cas?” Dean called, grinning. “You’ve got a fan!”

“I heard,” Cas said, peeking his head out of the kitchen with this smile that was just so content that Dean thought he would burst. “Put on the movie, I’ll be in in a minute.”

“Okay,” Claire said, jumping off of the couch and hesitating, realizing she had no idea where the movies were. Dean grinned and bent down next to one of the build-in cabinets, opening it to reveal the alphabetized jackpot. Her eyes went as wide as saucers.

“Have you watched all these?” she asked, gaping into the cabinet as Dean jimmied Rudolf out of its place.

“Almost.”

She squinted. “What’s that one?”

She was pointing at _Star Trek_. Dean laughed, closing the cabinet door and whisking her back to the television, where she hopped onto the couch, waiting for his answer as he set up the DVD.

“That’s a masterpiece I’ll show you when you’re a little bit older, okay?” Dean asked as the DVD loaded, pressing play. “I don’t think you’d like it so much now.”

She nodded solemnly, as serious as her father. “Okay.”

Her and Dean fell silent as they watched the movie start up, both of them giving the screen all of their attention by the time Cas walked in, plopping down on the couch on Dean’s other side. Dean immediately threw an arm around his shoulders and Cas leaned into it, a faint smile curling at his lips as he turned to the television too.

It only took another minute to pass before Claire was crawling over Dean’s lap and planting herself firmly in between them, wiggling until they made room between their bodies, seeming satisfied as she leaned into the body heat. Dean glanced at Cas as Cas looked at him, both of them grinning at each other so they didn’t laugh at the total cockblocking child sitting in between them. Dean winked at Cas before turning back to the movie, his arm still slung over the couch and his hand tracing patterns against the back of Cas’s neck.

They didn’t even bother pausing the movie to eat. They just pulled the coffee table closer and all lined up with their bowls and spoons, Claire propped up by a couple of pillows to see over the edge. She’d already pulled her hair free of the hairbands and her socks were abandoned under the table. She kept careful notice of her bowl as she ate, but always looked up to the television the second a character started speaking.

They barely made it to the end of the movie before Claire asked, “When do we get to open presents?”

Cas sighed. “Christmas morning, Claire. Maybe one on Christmas Eve.”

“But we opened them earlier last year,” Claire moaned, wounded, and Dean smothered a laugh.

“You had to go home before Christmas last year,” Cas pointed out, leaning down to kiss her temple. She frowned up at him, entirely unpleased at how he wasn’t bending to her will, and turned to Dean.

Claire could obviously tell that Cas wore the pants in the relationship because she seemed to know Dean was a total pushover. Dean looked back at her and shrugged like _what do you want me to do?_

She sighed heavily. “I can’t open one?”

“Nope,” Cas replied, smiling at her antics.

“My friend Lizzie gets to open one a day for like a whole week.”

“Lizzie is Jewish,” Cas deadpanned. “They celebrate Hanukah, which is a little bit different than Christmas.”

“Daddyyy.”

“Claire, you know the rules,” Cas told her, but he sounded like he was about to laugh at any second. He poked her in the stomach, and she giggled, ticklish. “No presents for you yet.”

Dean would swear later that the little schemer had totally been planning this, because that’s exactly when it felt like when Claire turned to him with wide, gleeful eyes when she asked, “Dean, did you get Daddy a present?”

Dean blinked slowly, taken aback by the question. From behind Claire’s back, Cas raised a hand to bite his knuckles to keep himself from laughing.

“I did,” Dean confirmed.

She looked at him. He looked back.

“ _And_?” she asked impatiently, raising her eyebrows expectantly, and Cas lost his battle with giggles from behind her.

“And what?”

“Is it a good present?” she asked him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is he gonna like it?”

Dean looked up at Cas, grinning. Cas, holding his fist against his mouth to keep himself from laughing again, looked back at him, eyes twinkling in amusement. Dean wagged his eyebrows and grinned before addressing Claire again, feeling his heart beating in his throat.

“Yeah,” Dean told her honestly. “I think he’s really gonna like it.”

“Okay,” she said, and then turned back to Cas with the bitchiest expression Dean had seen since whenever the last time he had seen Sam. She continued, petulant and unhappy, “See? If I have to wait for awesome stuff, you do, too.”

Cas looked truly flabbergasted for a moment at the backbone of his child, and he turned his shocked eyes from his daughter to Dean, and that was enough to break him.

Dean threw his head back and laughed so hard he thought he pulled a muscle as the end credits for Rudolf started playing on the screen, and Cas mechanically got up to put on a new Christmas movie, still looking entirely stunned.

Damn did Dean forget how much he missed this sassy little girl.


	13. December Thirteenth: Carol of the Belles

Charlie was the worst.

“Hey Claire,” she asked, sitting on the floor with Claire as she colored. Claire looked up, almost seeming entranced by either the color of Charlie’s hair or that the woman was wearing pointy elf ear tips, and waited to hear the rest, looking mildly interested. Dean, meanwhile, was a little bit more on the alarmed side of things.

Charlie noticed Dean’s nerves and grinned.

Literally, she’s the _worst_.

“Wanna learn some songs?” Charlie asked the little girl, grinning. “I could teach you some Christmas carols, and we can sing them to your dad and Dorothy when they get back.”

When Dorothy had admitted that she needed an extra pair of non-clumsy hands to handle getting the Christmas tree through their front door, Cas had immediately stood up and offered to help, always having a silent but respectful friendship with the brunette despite the fact that they barely knew each other at all. Dean immediately regretted not insisting Cas stay with his daughter, because Dean was rapidly trying to think of any excuse not to let Charlie teach Claire a half dozen annoying songs and couldn’t come up with anything.

Charlie didn’t have to look at Dean to know that her attempt at getting under his skin was working. It was written in her smirk when Claire immediately cheered, “Okay!”, her eyes wide and earnest as she set her crayons to the side. A spike of fear rolled up Dean’s spine.

He did not want to be blamed for this.

“Claire,” Dean called, trying to distract, feeling like he was dodging a wrench instead of a ball. Or, like a semi instead of a snowball. “How about we watch _Elf_ before you go to bed, huh?”

Claire hesitated, acknowledging his counteroffer.

“Claire?” Dean urged.

Claire’s face broke into a giant gapped smile.

~*~

“Jingle bells, jingle bells!” Claire screamed off-key as she sprinted through the house at top-speed, tripping over her feet and giggling as she picked herself back up, her little feet flopping in her flat shoes. Cas stood, eyes bulging, as he watched her streak clumsily through the halls, singing at the top of her lungs. He slowly set his keys down on the table, the first movement he had made since the door had immediately swung shut behind Charlie, since she dove to freedom the second Cas walked into the house. Dean was hovering in the doorway to the living room, eyes horrified and just waiting to get either punched in the chest or yelled at.

“Dean?” Cas whispered through frozen lips as Claire started on an incorrect shrieking version of Dashing Through the Snow. “Dean, what happened?”

“Charlie happened,” Dean told him slowly, flinching. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Daddy!” Claire cheered when she spotted him, stumbling over. “Daddy, Charlie taught me carols! Sing with me!”

“How many songs did she teach you?” Cas asked her, fake cheerful.

“Tons!” the little girl cheered, tugging on his hand. “C’mon!”

“Give me a minute, okay, sweetheart?” he asked, nodding to the living room. “I have to tell Dean something.”

Claire agreed happily before bounding past Dean and into the living room, still singing but at least softer. Cas followed her retreat before she was out of sight, and then his eyes snapped to Dean.

“She’s not gonna stop singing all night now,” Cas warned him solemnly. “I’m not kidding. She will more than likely be up all night breaking into spontaneous song like a Broadway musical.”

“I know,” Dean replied, grimacing.

“Closed doors and our slumber will not stop her.”

“I figured.”

“Dean,” Cas sighed.

Dean looked away, feeling ten times guiltier. “I’m so sorry, Cas. I tried to stop it, really, but after the first song Claire looked like she was having so much fun and I didn’t have the heart to interrupt, and it turns out that Charlie knows way too many carols and Christmas songs and—mmph!”

Cas had closed the space in between them and muffled Dean’s explanation with his hand, eyes and expression virtually unreadable. Dean blinked at him, waiting.

“Are you under the impression that you need to be apologizing to me right now?” Cas demanded almost incredulously.

Dean nodded, mouth still covered.

“Dean,” Cas said disapprovingly, and then laughed, dropping his hand. He stepped forward and crowded against Dean, his hands sliding to either side of Dean’s neck before leaning in and kissing him. Dean lifted his hands to Cas’s hips, pulling him instinctually closer. Cas pulled back before they could get too carried away, hands trailing down until they rested on his chest, one over his heart.

Dean squeezed his hips, silently asking.

“I’m not mad, idiot,” Cas told him fondly, hand fisting in Dean’s shirt over his heart. He pecked him on the lips quick one more time before murmuring, “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to make you sing with her as punishment.”

“You bastard,” Dean murmured, betrayed.

Cas smiled cheekily before pulling Dean away from the wall by his grip on his shirt, pushing him to the living room with a slap to the ass. “I wanna hear falsetto, Winchester.”

“Bite me,” Dean muttered back before plastering on a smile and heading over to where Claire was humming on the couch, Cas hot on his heels.

“Claire, how about you and Dean sing to me all the songs Charlie taught you?” Cas asked her innocently, all blue eyes and great father. “It could be like a concert.”

“Yeah!” Claire agreed, turning to Dean eagerly.

“Yeah,” he echoed, trying not to sound like he would rather do a lot of other things with his life, and he must have succeeded because Claire immediately dove at him and pulled him into the middle of the room, ready to conduct their duet.

As Claire sang excitedly and urged Dean to join in with her, pulling at his hand and bouncing alongside of him, Cas sat on the couch with his chin propped up on his hand, grinning they put on their impromptu performance and taking pictures when he could, and Dean kind of wanted to kill him but kind of thought that this was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen, feeling like part of Claire and Cas’s little family more than he ever had, and Dean wouldn’t have wanted to change that feeling for the world.


	14. December Fourteenth: Icebreaker

Dean’s pride was too fragile to admit to either Cas or Claire that he didn’t know how to ice skate until the two of them were already on the ice and Dean was standing at the little doorway, hesitating. And even then, he opened his mouth to say it, but he didn’t. He just stood there shakily on his skates, staring down at the white blanket of ice, hoping and praying that his good karma didn’t choose to run out when he stepped onto it, _really_ not wanting the ice to break like a cartoon the second his weight was on it.

Dean clung tighter to the waist-high wall.

“Dean?” Cas called, turning around. He was holding one of Claire’s hands, and they were both gliding over the ice like freaking Jesus walking on water or something. Cas looked confused. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, took a deep breath, and forced himself to push himself onto the ice.

Dean promptly felt his feet shoot out from under him, and he slammed down hard on his back.

“Dean, oh my god, are you alright?” Cas demanded, sounding panicked. Dean groaned unclearly from where he was sprawled on the cold, trying to regain feeling in his spine. He pushed his hands underneath of him, pushing himself up into a sitting position as Cas skidded to a stop beside him, eyes wide.

“I’ve been better,” Dean replied honestly.

“Do you need help up? Are you hurt?” his boyfriend continued to frantically demand as he helped him up without an answer, lugging Dean up onto his uneasy feet and pulling him until he was leaning against the waist-high wall. Cas ran his hands up and down Dean’s arms like he was checking for whole bones sticking out or something equally as terrible. “Holy shit, Dean, seriously, are you okay?”

“Cas,” Dean said slowly, “I don’t know how to skate.”

Cas looked at him, and then blinked. “Okay, but are you okay?”

“Bruised, but I’m fine,” Dean admitted, smiling a little. “Don’t worry about it, babe.”

“Dean!” Claire called, skating shakily over to him but still staying on her feet, her eyes wide as she grabbed onto one of his hands, squeezing it in two of hers as she stared up at him in fear. “Are you okay? That must’ve hurt!”

“I’m okay, kiddo, but thank you,” Dean told her with feeling, smiling for real as he reached his free hand to muss her hair. “Both of you are just worry warts.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me you don’t know how to skate?” Cas asked him impatiently, sighing. “I could’ve taught you, you know. You didn’t have to bruise your tailbone over your ego.”

“My ego is mighty bruised on its own right now, thanks,” Dean replied, laughing at the thought of what his epic trip-up probably would have looked like to all who witnessed it. “I don’t know, Cas, I just didn’t want to rain on anyone’s parade.”

“You don’t know how to skate?” Claire asked, looking up at him, all blue. Her jacket, scarf, and hat were shades of blue, as were her eyes, and it was like staring up into the sky. “Daddy and I can teach you! Mommy takes me to lessons so I know how to teach it now. C’mon, Dean.”

She tugged on his hand, tugging him out into the oval of death. Dean looked over at Cas, not entirely convinced, but Cas was grinning wickedly, ready for revenge, and Dean knew that this man was definitely not going to be on his side of this one.

“That sounds like a great idea, Claire,” Cas encouraged her, taking Dean’s other hand and smiling over at him smugly. “Dean should be able to learn just fine with our help. What do you say, Dean? Sound like fun?”

“Don’t get mad at me when I fall,” Dean warned them both nervously as he let them softly pull him away from the wall, conscious that he was going to have to make sure to drag Cas down when he fell instead of Claire. “And let’s stick to the edge, alright?”

“For now,” Claire told him ominously before she pushed off, pulling him behind her by the hand, and Dean slip-slid his way into what would inevitably be his death.

~*~

He didn’t die, but he _did_ fall four times and dragged Cas with him once, ending up with six feet worth of wriggling boyfriend on top of him as Cas grumbled unhappily and Claire giggled—so maybe the trip wasn’t all that much of a bust after all.


	15. December Fifteenth: Let it Snow(ball Out of Control)

Dean knew from previous experience that it was foolish to underestimate Castiel Novak.

However, he really hadn’t expected Cas to be a master snowball strategist.

Dean had nowhere to hide but behind the big oak tree in their backyard, a behemoth that was a pain in the ass in the autumn but was serving him justice now, with snowballs slamming into the trunk, near-misses ricocheting past him by inches. Dean huddled with a snowball in each hand, feeling just a strike of fear at the holy retribution of a hungry five-year-old.

“Dean!” Claire complained, throwing another small snowball and missing, but she was better at aiming than Dean was, that was for sure. “Daddy says he won’t start dinner until you come out!”

“You have to accept defeat first,” Cas corrected, and the asshole totally sounded like he was smirking. Typical that he would use a child’s suffering into coercing Dean to lose a bet. “Come on, Dean, we’re hungry and you’re cornered.”

Thankfully, Dean’d had his whole childhood of Sammy giving him puppy dog eyes in an attempt to get his way, so he had developed enough of a resistance to complaining children to reply back, “Never!”

“Claire,” Cas told her solemnly, “we might have to take offensive action.”

“Can we attack him now?” she whined.

“In a moment,” Cas said patiently. “Do you have the snowballs I made for you?”

“Yup.”

“Do you remember the plan?”

“Yup.”

“You guys already have a plan?” Dean demanded, almost impressed. They both ignored him.

“Ready?”

“Cas,” Dean began, suddenly wary. “C’mon, how about a truce? I could wash the dishes for two weeks?”

“You already normally wash the dishes,” Cas pointed out. “Claire?”

“Ready,” she replied dutifully, sounding like a soldier going to war.

Dean suddenly didn’t like the sound of this. He clutched his snow tighter, trying to ignore how cold he was. He was determined not to let the Novaks beat him. He had a goal and he would reach it. He would not fall to their regime.

He was stronger than this.

(He totally wasn’t.)

“Go!” Cas cried, and then there was the sound of running.

At that, Dean took off running, too, abandoning his shelter for the open expanse of the large backyard. Immediately, a handful of snow hit his back, and Claire cheered. And then one hit the back of his head, a snowball of much more notable size, and Cas couldn’t help but to laugh.

“That’s so rude!” Dean yelled as he continued to run in zigzags like he was being chased by a very angry alligator. “I’m outnumbered!”

Dean ducked around the side of the house to regroup, holding his snow up like a threat. He heard the slow crunch of footsteps approaching, sneaking slowly along and obviously thinking he couldn’t hear it, but this time Dean had the upper hand. He waited until the footsteps were almost to the corner before he dove out, ready to attack.

Claire stared up at him with big blue eyes and empty hands.

“I’m the distraction,” she informed him kindly.

And then Cas jumped onto his back and dragged him down to the ground.

“This is so unfair!” Dean called as they hit the ground, Cas’s limbs snaked around him like an octopus, not letting go. Claire giggled, such a total mini sadist, as Dean struggled, trying to grab Cas. Cas, though, was a lot stronger than he looked, and he only let Dean move far enough so that they were facing. Cas pressed him into the snow, straddling him, smirking like he had just done something genuinely devious instead of tricking him with an adorable, small, and innocent child target.

“Gotcha,” Cas said happily.

“Not fair,” Dean continued to groan, ignoring Cas as he laughed at his poor sportsmanship. Cas leaned down to kiss him, but Dean turned his face, scowling. “No. I’m mad at you. That was against the rules.”

“Dean,” Cas laughed, shaking off his gloves so he could slide his fingers under Dean’s hat and into his hair. Cas’s skin and the snow underneath of him was freezing, but Dean still had a soft spot for Cas’s fingers in his hair. Cas grinned down at him. “It was totally fair, and you know it. We’re having ice cream for dessert and that’s final.”

“But it’s already cold _outside_ ,” Dean complained. “Why wouldn’t you both want a nice hot dessert? Heathens, I tell you. _Heathens_.”

Cas rolled his eyes. Claire was already stumbling over the snow to get to the backdoor.

“ _Hungry_ ,” she chimed in an impatient tone one more time before she tugged the door open, stumbling into the warm. “Daddy! Dean!”

“One minute, sweetheart,” Cas called back, still grinning down at Dean in amusement. “Hang up your coat and take off your boots!”

Claire closed the door on him without replying. Dean continued to frown up at the gorgeous guy on top of him, pretending not to notice just how gorgeous he was when he smiled.

“Cheater,” Dean mumbled.

“Totally not,” Cas told him, curling his fingers tighter in Dean’s hair and leaning down further, pressing their chests together. He pressed a kiss onto Dean’s forehead, but the bastard couldn’t stop grinning. “All I did was use your weaknesses against you.”

“Not wanting to violently attack a child is a weakness?”

“In snowball fight situations?” he asked gravely. “Yes.”

“You’re a maniac.”

“Mhm,” Cas responded, and then kissed him.

“We have to go inside,” Dean murmured softly against Cas’s mouth, trying not to get distracted and failing entirely. “Dinner.”

“Mmm,” Cas agreed, not stopping.

The backdoor banged open.

“Daddy!” Claire yelled out bossily. “Stop kissing Dean and make dinner. _Please_ ,” she added as a second thought.

Cas laughed before pressing one quick kiss to Dean’s lips before rolling off of him, offering him a hand to help him up. Dean bent back down to retrieve the hat and gloves as Cas headed to the backdoor, scooping his child up in his arms and towing her into the house as she laughed. Dean paused at the edge of the deck, smiling as he watched them, unable to shake the way his heart beat faster every time Cas demonstrated how amazing he was with kids.

Cas glanced back and saw Dean staring, and smiled. “You coming back in?” he asked, a little amused.

Dean just nodded and headed in, figuring that, one day, maybe he would be able to find the words to tell Cas Novak how much he loved him. But, for now, he was going to have to stick with the ones he knew, a hidden golden ring on his mind.


	16. December Sixteenth: Kiss Kiss, Sneeze Sneeze

“Oh how the mighty have fallen,” Dean couldn’t help but to taunt as he stood over Cas’s practically lifeless form the next morning, arms crossed over his chest and a big smirk on his face. “How you feeling, Cas? Are you feeling _wrong_ because I was _right_?”

“My head hurts,” Cas moaned instead, pulling the cover up to hide his face. “I feel like death.”

“That’s what happens when you’re out in the cold for hours at a time,” Dean pointed out, sitting down gingerly on the bed beside his boyfriend. Dean pulled the blanket down far enough to lay the back of his hand on Cas’s forehead. “You’re burning up, babe.”

“I think I’ve gotten a cold,” Cas groaned in pain and suffering, looking absolutely miserable. “Why _me_?”

“Sorry, babe, but I don’t think colds are selective,” Dean told him, leaning down to kiss his feverish skin. Cas groaned and tried to roll away, hiking the covers up again.

“No,” he grated out. “You’ll get sick. Run while you can.”

Dean laughed. “Cas, I haven’t gotten sick in two years. And where do you think I’m gonna go? Evacuate with Claire and not take care of you?”

Dean started running his fingers calmly through Cas’s hair as the other man mumbled, “Crap. Claire.”

“I can take care of her for one day, crazy,” Dean told him, patting the lump of his arm through the comforter. “How about this, alright? I’m gonna pump you full of meds, and you’re gonna take a nap while I am perfectly capable of taking care of your daughter, alright? And when you wake up, you’re hopefully gonna feel better. Deal?”

Cas nodded.

“Do you want some soup too?”

Cas hesitated, and then nodded again.

“Coming right up,” Dean promised him, leaning down and kissing his face again. Dean couldn’t help it. There was just something absolutely charming about a helpless Cas.

Dean left Cas behind with one last pat to his ankle before closing the bedroom door behind him, heading down to the kitchen. He didn’t even make it to the top of the stairs before Claire opened the door to her bedroom, hair all messed up and eyes still bleary with sleep, wearing a pair of teddy bear pajamas. She blinked at Dean.

“Morning, sleepy head,” Dean greeted, smiling. “Want some breakfast?”

She nodded, following along behind him as he continued his trek into the kitchen. She planted herself at the table in her usual spot as Dean went for the cupboard, pulling out a can of chicken noodle and a box of Cookie Crisp. Dean set Claire up with her cereal, bowl, milk, and spoon before turning back to the can of soup, readying that.

“Is Daddy sleeping?” Claire asked a few bites later, when the food started bringing her back to life, the same way Cas was with his coffee. Dean put the soup in the microwave, leaning back on the counter to face her.

“He doesn’t feel well,” Dean told her. “It looks like he caught a cold.”

“He’s sick?” Claire asked, face falling in worry. “Is he okay?”

“Just a little tired,” Dean assured her, smiling at her sympathy. “I’m gonna give him some medicine and food and see if he feels any better.”

Claire suddenly looked like she was thinking very, very hard.

“What’s on your mind, string bean?” Dean asked curiously. Cas’s daughter peered up at him with those mischievous eyes and grinned wickedly, a resemblance so close to Cas’s brother Gabriel that it sent a shiver of pure terror up Dean’s spine.

“I know a way to make him feel better,” Claire declared, and then scrambled out of her chair and into the living room, meal forgotten.

Dean, always too curious, followed behind her blindly.

~*~

Dean poked his head into their bedroom, smiling when Cas blinked at him blearily from his cocoon in the blankets. “Hey there, sleepy,” Dean greeted softly, nudging his way through the door. The discarded cold medicine boxes and soup bowl sat on the side table from where Cas had put them before conking out into such a deep slumber that Claire had remarked that he was like her favorite Disney princess. Cas, looking like he had a little more color but also like he was getting his ass kicked by science, smiled up at him.

“What time is it?” Cas asked, voice husky. Dean would have been lying if he said it wasn’t a little bit sexy.

“About noon,” Dean told him, sinking down to perch on the side of the bed. Cas rolled so he could see Dean better, smiling up at him even though his eyes were still a little unfocused. Dean’s fingers automatically found their way into Cas’s mussed up hair again. “You feeling any better?”

“Better,” Cas admitted. “Head hurts less. Feel less like I’m going to die.”

“That’s good, then,” Dean told him, smiling. “Turns out Claire’s a total worry wart like her dad.”

“Yeah?” Cas asked, smiling around a laugh like a cough. “I hope she’s not worrying too much.”

“No,” Dean said, glancing to the door. “In fact, she has something she thinks will make you feel better.”

Cas raised his eyebrows, smiling softly. The door opened as if on cue and Claire stuck her head in, eyes wide. She smiled when she saw her dad, and Cas’s smile widened in response. She looked to Dean.

“Now?” she asked impatiently, same as she had been for the last two hours.

Dean laughed and nodded, gesturing for her to come over. Dean sacrificed his spot on the bed so Claire could bounce up onto the bed, holding her paper close to her chest so Cas couldn’t sneak a peak. Cas smiled at her and then looked up at Dean curiously before turning his gaze back to his daughter.

“What’ve you got for me, Miss Claire?” Cas asked.

“When I don’t feel good, I think about things I like,” she informed him before turning around the picture, pointing at it. It was filled with drawings of stick figures and dogs and even one hat up in the left hand corner. Dean glanced at it too, having been shooed away every time he tried to sneak a peak before it’s grand unveiling. Cas’s smile practically turned blinding, his eyes softening as she leaned over to see, pointing. “See? There’s kitties and puppies, and going to the park, and then my family.” She pointed to the stick figures. “There’s me, Mommy, and you, right there. And that’s Dean.”

Dean blinked, thrown off guard, and looked where she was pointing. And there he was—a stick figure with brown hair and green eyes standing next to Cas’s stick figure, wearing a black shirt and a pair of jeans. Dean immediately felt emotion swell in his throat, making him feel like he would choke on it. Cas melted, too, looking up at Dean with bright eyes and smiling softly when he saw Dean’s surprise, and his gratitude. Cas sacrificed a hand to the open air to wrap his fingers tight around Dean’s, squeezing. Dean squeezed back, speechless.

“I love it, Claire,” Cas told her honestly, sounding choked up. He beamed at her. “We should hang it up in here, huh? Leave it on that dresser and Dean’ll stick it up.”

She nodded dutifully before leaning forward and throwing her arms around his neck, whispering for him to get better before she scrambled off of the bed, leaving the picture where he requested before ducking from the room. Dean still felt like he had something in his eye. Like a branch, or a collection of horrible spices.

“I didn’t know she was going to do that,” Dean told him, choked up. He tried to clear his throat, reaching up and rubbing at his eyes and pretending like a few tears hadn’t already escaped, because the thought of Claire thinking of him as her family was so amazing that it was painful. He looked back down at Cas to see him looking up at him with all of the same emotions, none concealed, on his face. Cas squeezed his hand even tighter.

Dean physically shook it off before taking a deep breath, plastering on a grin. He squeezed Cas’s hand back before sliding off of the bed, letting go.

“Hope you feel better,” Dean muttered, feeling his face turning red as he started toward the door with determination, but the sound of Cas sitting up made him pause in the doorway.

“I love you,” Cas told him, smiling at him so lovingly it was impossible to doubt. “And I—I’m glad Claire does too.”

“I,” Dean began, but broke off to let out a heavy sneeze.

For a moment, Cas and Dean just stared at each other. And then Dean groaned.

“Whoops,” Cas said innocently.


	17. December Seventeenth: Sam's Little Fangirl

Today was the day.

“Do you see them?” Cas asked Claire, who was sitting on his shoulders and squinting out over the crowd, ignoring the fact that even he and Dean wouldn’t be able to miss Sam’s giant moose body moving through a crowd of average-sized humans. Claire scrunched up her face in concentration before she shook her head.

Sam and Jess were flying out to spend the holidays in Charleston, since they decided they would all alternate host years and it was finally the first time that they would be at the house the day of. Dean’s mom Mary wouldn’t be flying in until two more days with sour-patch Bobby, his dad’s best buddy and practically Sam and Dean’s surrogate father once John was buried.

Dean was so excited to see them he could scream. But he wouldn’t, because that would be weird, and he was the socially-abled one in the relationship.

Claire had only seen pictures of Sam, having met him only once over Skype, but Dean was more than willing to give her the pivotal mission of spotting the nerd at the airport. He trusted that, of all people, Novaks might have a keen sense of picking up the location of Winchesters.

“They landed fifteen minutes ago,” Dean whined impatiently. “How long does it take them to walk? Did Sam stop to wash his hair or something?”

“It takes a while to deboard,” Cas pointed out, but he looked as excited as Dean was. Cas and Sam got along like peas and carrots, to Dean’s true horror. He could barely trust the two of them to be in the same room without some horrible old or recent embarrassment being told in detailed story format. “Relax, Dean.”

“I’m relaxed,” Dean snapped, totally not relaxed.

“Oh!” Claire cheered, sitting up straighter. “I found him!”

And sure enough, she had. Moments after Claire made her discovery, the sight of Sam’s above-average-high head appeared through the other heads, making its way in their general direction, where they were waiting at the baggage claim. Claire waved her arms, giggling as Dean boomed, “Sammy!”

Sam’s head looked up and over the crowd like the unnatural giant he is, and he spotted them. Immediately, a large dorky grin spread over his face and he waved back at Claire excitedly, reaching down to grab Jess’s hand and pulled her forward into the rush of holiday travelers.

Dean made it to Sam first, throwing his arms around his younger brother, grinning as Sam laughed and thumped him on the back. Dean pulled back but kept his hands on Sam’s shoulders, holding him out in front of him with a displeased frown.

“Cut your hair,” he said, his normal greeting since Sam was twelve and decided he wanted to have a flowing mane of hair. Sam just rolled his eyes and thumped Dean again on the shoulder, grinning wide.

“Good to see you too, Dean,” he replied, before turning to Cas, who’d let Claire down onto the ground. Now that her job was over, she seemed to remember that she was awkward around strangers, because she immediately hid behind Cas’s legs. “Hey, Cas!”

“Sam,” Cas greeted with a grin, letting the giant hug monster pull him into an embrace as Jess skipped up to Dean, throwing her arms around his neck.

“And how are you, Miss Jess?” Dean demanded, grinning down at her as she pulled away, her hair ten times more impressive than Sam’s will ever be. “Sick of my brother yet?”

“Not quite yet,” she told him, rolling her eyes. “You _were_ at the wedding, right?”

“Nah,” Dean replied. “Paid actor.”

“And this must be Claire,” Sam said, beaming down at the little blonde. Claire stared back for a moment, stoic, looking like an exact female clone of her father, before she smiled hesitantly back. “You look so big from the last time I saw you!”

“Three feet, two inches, and one half,” she reported proudly, grinning with no front teeth up at Sam, who probably looked like the Chrysler building to her. “How tall are you?”

“Six feet and four inches,” Sam told her, laughing as he eyes got big. “Did you take care of these two before I got here?”

She nodded solemnly, so serious. “They kiss too much,” she told him honestly.

Sam and Jess immediately burst out laughing, wrapped around Claire’s little finger because Claire could rule nations with how easy it was for her to steal away people’s hearts. Dean and Cas grinned at each other at her comment but immediately broke eye contact when a little buzzing alert went off to signal the baggage was on its way. Dean managed to divert the family over to the conveyer belt, Claire grabbing Sam’s free hand to keep from getting lost in the crowd. As they waited, Claire told Sam and Jess everything she could remember about the last few days, like the snowball fight and Dean’s disastrous ice-skating, and sooner rather than later they were laughing at Dean’s expense, as usual. For once, Dean was just happy enough to see his brother that he didn’t really mind. It had been months since he had seen the loser.

But Claire’s attention on Sam didn’t let up even as they walked to the car or during the trip home, where she made Cas sit on one side in the backseat and Sam on the other, telling Dean’s brother about the stories of her mom and friends back home. Sam, always practically giddy to be around children, nodded along to her stories, showing her all the attention she wanted. Dean glanced over at Jess as they pulled into the driveway, eyebrows up, but Jess was already smirking, not even having to look into the backseat to know what was happening.

They set Sam and Jess up in the office room downstairs, Dean managing to pry Claire away from Sam’s side after chiding her for needing to leave the guests alone to unpack. She had sighed like she couldn’t believe his gall before zooming around the living room, collecting movies and coloring books and normal books and anything else at her disposal to show off. Cas and Dean stood in the doorway and watched her, choking on their laughter.

“I think Claire’s got a crush,” Dean teased Cas, nudging him in the side. “Like father, like daughter. The Winchester charm is _impossible_ to deny.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Cas replied in a snort, but couldn’t help but to grin anyway as Claire got to work on coloring a picture more than likely meant for Sam—and, by necessary extension, Jess. “It’s pretty adorable, though.”

“I question her taste,” Dean sighed, shaking his head in false disappointment. “But yeah, it’s pretty cute.”

“Do you think we should tell her he’s married?” Cas teased, twisting his face with despair and worry.

“Cas,” Dean replied, “I don’t think you’re ready to deal with her broken heart.”

“You’re right, because then I would have to kill Sam.”

“And he only just got here.”

“Right.”

Dean and Cas looked at each other, serious. And then they burst into laughter.

“I can’t wait to tease her about this when she’s older,” Dean commented, grinning over at Claire. Cas leaned into his side, curling one arm around Dean’s waist, his body heat’s comfort better than a favorite blanket. Dean leaned into him automatically, tilting their heads together.

“Yeah,” Cas replied emotionally, sounding like his mind was somewhere else, his gaze moving to the Christmas pictures decorating the mantle. He squeezed the arm around Dean’s waist. “I can’t, either.”


	18. December Eighteenth: Frightful Weather and Sam's Fragile Feelings

Sam looked personally offended when Dean laughed in his face after he suggested they go to the flea market. In Dean’s defense, it’s freezing outside and a stupid idea, since both Dean and Cas were nursing recovering colds, chugging EmergenC at every given opportunity. But Sam was insistent and played dirty and because he had learned from a childhood of Dean telling him to get lost, Sam cheated and asked Cas who, of course, said yes.

And that was why Dean and Claire were sitting on a bench in the freezing cold with their arms crossed as they pouted.

Sam and Cas, meanwhile, were very seriously examining exotically decorated vases. Jess had disappeared into a clothing stall at the front by the entrance and had yet to catch back up.

“They probably have food somewhere,” Dean tempted the five year old, but Claire just shook her head, refusing to leave Sam’s side. Moments like these, Dean was seriously questioning the small girl’s judgment.

Thankfully, it only took another three minutes before Sam and Cas showed back up, Cas’s hands shoved in his pockets and his face and ears red from the cold. Claire immediately skipped over to both of their sides with a peppy smile, like she wasn’t just dying of boredom at Dean’s side. Dean wanted to roll his eyes, but he was actually literally too bored for unnecessary movement.

Cas immediately crossed the space to huddle at Dean’s side, shivering. Dean wrapped an arm around him, glancing down.

“You should put on your hat, babe,” Dean commented, frowning. “You must be freezing.”

“I forgot it,” Cas admitted, grimacing. “We were rushing out the door and I was too preoccupied with making sure Claire was warm that I completely forgot until we were in the car.”

Dean sighed dramatically. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“I know,” Cas despaired, nuzzling up close to Dean in an attempt to steal body heat. Dean reached to pull him closer as Sam and Claire approached again, Sam rolling his eyes at their show of affection like the absolute petulant little shit he’s always been.

“Where do you guys wanna go next?” Sam asked, looking down at Claire, too, which seemed to bring her more joy than the holiday season ever could. “I assume you know this place better than I do.”

“I’ve never been here before,” Dean deadpanned.

“There’s a book stall down that way,” Cas told Sam, gesturing deeper into the market. “She always has a large variety of genres, but she’s always guaranteed to carry the classics.”

“Okay,” Sam said, and then looked back down at Claire. “That sound like a good idea to you?”

“Yup!” she cheered, her eyes like cartoon hearts, and she jogged to keep up with Sam as he blindly led the way, looking up and pointing at stands with all of the questions she always seemed to have about everything, listening with intense concentration as he explained his answers like they were the mysteries of the universe. Cas wound both of his arms around Dean’s waist and buried his head in Dean’s shoulder as they walked, Dean’s hand rubbing up and down his back in an attempt to create friction. He frowned down at his boyfriend worriedly.

Dean is weak, so he barely made it five steps before sighing again and pulling Cas to a stop, turning to face him as he reached up and untangled the scarf from around his neck. Cas opened his mouth to ask what he was doing a second before Dean started wrapping the wool around his boyfriend’s neck instead, making sure to pile it up high enough to cover Cas’s ears, making the other man blush in embarrassment.

“There,” Dean said, leaning back to appreciate his work and nodding in approval. “That way you don’t have to freeze your gorgeous ass off.”

For a moment, his face partially obscured by the way Dean wrapped the scarf haphazardly, Cas just stared at him. And then he pulled the scarf down below his chin and surged forward, kissing Dean like his heart was in his throat, his hands on either side of Dean’s neck, cradling his head like he was something precious. Dean always got this slimy feeling outside of his control when he’s treated like that, thanks to his father’s gruff treatment (or, depending on who was asked, _mis_ treatment), but it evaporated into sunshine when it was Cas, because Cas was the first time Dean dared himself to let it be okay. Dean had handed Cas his heart whether the other man realized it or not, let the guy see a vulnerability that Dean had never before trusted anyone to see, and it made his heart race every time Cas showed him just how much that extension of trust is treasured.

Dean would never be able to survive it if Cas walked away. Dean would let him, but he would never recover. And that was why Dean was finally about to take that big step forward, not afraid of commitment if it meant he wouldn’t have to be afraid of loneliness.

Cas pulled away just far enough to murmur against Dean’s lips, “Thank you.”

“Anytime, babe,” Dean replied before pulling further away, taking hold of one of Cas’s fallen hands, before continuing, “We better go find Sam before Claire kidnaps him.”

“Good idea,” Cas agreed gravely before he smiled and leaned into Dean, letting him start wandering up the aisle again. “Worst case, we can just tells your mom we lost him at the mall.”

“Is that an option?” Dean asked gleefully, and just let himself smile into the sound of Cas’s laughter.


	19. December Nineteenth: The Annual Winchester Christmas Kegger

If Dean thought that he had been excited to see his loser giant of a brother, then he didn’t even know the word for what it felt like when he heard the knock on the door somewhere around three fifteen, and he opened it to find Mary and Bobby on the other side.

It felt like years since he had seen either of them, even though it had only been about three months since he had dropped in to visit Mary for a week in October. Dean figured it might have something to do with Christmas spirit, or maybe his heightened sense of positive emotions as well as anxiety, but seeing the two of them finally there with big smiles practically reduced Dean into happy tears.

Dean seriously had no idea where the emotion was coming from.

Dean didn’t get a lot of time to speak to his mother and his father-figure, though, outside of setting Mary up in the last remaining room upstairs and informing Bobby that he would be stuck on the pullout couch in the finished basement (Bobby didn’t seem to mind, since it meant being further away from the noise, if also further away from the heater). He basically could only hover over them as they settled in before he had to excuse himself to go back and help Sam, Cas, and Jess prepare for the annual Winchester Christmas party, a yearly party for close friends and family only, which Dean and Cas would now be hosting. And Cas took hosting way, if a little much too, seriously.

Before Dean really knew what happened, somewhere in the rush, it was six thirty, and there were a lot of people in his living room.

They didn’t go crazy with the invites, since their house was already pretty full enough with the family they were already hosting for the holiday, but they did throw in some faces that they weren’t related to. Cas’s best friend Hannah and her husband were smiling as they talked to Sam and Jess over by the far window, and Charlie was hanging on to Dorothy’s arm while laughing at something Mary was telling her—more than likely something she would use against Dean as blackmail later—while Claire was trying to convince Bobby, a man much taller and gruffer and bah-humbug than the blonde-haired blue-eyed child, to dance with her. Cas was deep in a discussion in the corner with Chuck, his editor who also happened to be his cousin’s husband.

Dean barely had enough time to wonder where Anna had gone before she was behind him.

“Howdy, stranger,” she greeted, grinning at him and nudging him in the arm, other hand curled around a drink. “Haven’t heard from you two in a while. You never call, you never write.”

“You’re a menace,” Dean told her with feeling, but she was the reason he and Cas had ever met, so he was willing to put up with her solely through gratitude. And, also, because she was the only member of Cas’s family that actually gave a damn about him, so he felt he owed her more than he ever gave her for that.

“I might be a menace, but I’m a positive one,” she replied like she could read his mind, taking a long drink of beer from the keg in the mudroom. “Chuck and I can’t stay long. We have another party, and then we have to go to work in the morning like normal functioning humans.”

“Lies,” Dean remarked. She punched him in the shoulder.

Dean’s history with Anna was way too deep of a history than one should necessarily have with a boyfriend’s cousin. Dean’s friend since college but Cas’s cousin since birth, she had somehow ended up in the middle of their arguments in the very beginning, back when it was rocky and uneven and they barely knew how to talk to each other, so she definitely knew way too much about his relationship to make Dean entirely comfortable, especially since she had moments where she was entirely prepared to hold that over his head like an anvil. But, really, she was a good person, and she meant a lot to both of them, and it was always nice to see her every once in a while.

No one but them needed to know that they slept together once back when they were nineteen.

They didn’t get the chance to talk much more than that, though, because a certain little blonde stumbled up to Dean and pulled on his hand, trying to tow him out the kitchen door, only seconds later.

“Dean,” she whined, “Bobby won’t dance with me.”

Dean was anything but surprised. “Do you want me to force him?”

“No, just be nice to him.”

“So use guilt?”

“No,” Claire said, and then paused, considering. “Would that work?”

Anna laughed. Dean did, too, and rolled his eyes before nodding his goodbye to Anna, letting Claire pull him to the makeshift dance floor.

~*~

Hannah and her husband were the first to excuse themselves for the night, almost expectedly—they had a newborn back at home with a babysitter, and Cas and Dean have struggled to keep the two of them out of the house since she was born. Cas paused on the porch to watch them leave, the door hanging open.

Cas put Claire to bed about thirty minutes later, and, after saying goodnight, Anna and Chuck decided to call it a night as well. Dean gave Anna a hug but only nodded awkwardly at the guy on her arm, since Chuck tended to look at Dean like he was expecting Dean to shoot him. Dean waved to them until they were too far to see anyway.

By that time, it was nearing ten o’clock, and Dean felt safe to say that the majority of the people in his living room were good and buzzed. Which was a perfect segue into the next part of the Winchester holiday celebrations, as the remaining guests knew to expect.

“Well,” Dean said slowly, grinning. “We need to get rid of some of the beer in this keg. Anyone wanna keg stand?”

“Best party ever,” Dorothy replied immediately, sounding relieved. Dean laughed before ducking into the mudroom and pulling the keg into the kitchen, where they would have more room. Bobby was looking around at everyone in attendance like they were the epitome of stupid, but Charlie was scrambling for her cell phone, ready to take as many embarrassing photos and videos as humanly possible. Jess was smirking like she was fine with just living with the memories, but Sam was looking at the keg like a plan was forming in his head.

“Bet you can’t actually do a keg stand,” Sam directed at Dean, because Sam liked to make Dean either admit he couldn’t do something or that he _could_ do something extremely unhealthy from his youth, but Dean was not one to stand down from a challenge. Not even when his mother was tittering at them to cut it out from the sidelines, looking like she was questioning some of her parenting techniques.

“Challenge accepted, bitch,” Dean told his brother, immediately starting to stretch his arms.

Mary looked like she was tempted to stop him with force, probably taking into account that none of them were as young as they still thought they were or because she had no idea that Dean was a borderline alcoholic frat boy in college, but Cas just shot her a wry expression before informing her flatly, “I’ve seen him do this before several times.”

“Several?” Mary demanded incredulously. “Dean, you’re almost a thirty year old man.”

“Don’t worry about him, Mrs. W,” Charlie assured her, grinning. “Dean’s got some impressive upper arm strength. You should see him pole dance.”

Mary looked like she really, really didn’t want to know.

“Spot me, babe,” Dean told Cas with a straight face.

“Just don’t break your face,” Cas replied warily before Dean gripped the side of the can, taking one more breath before he kicked up, and then he was upside down and the real party started.

And then there was also a lot of beer and cheering and hysterical laughter and shutters from camera phones going off, and Dean almost passed out the second he got back onto his feet but it was so worth it to know he was victorious, especially when he watched with a static brain Charlie’s video of the event, laughing loudly at Cas’s stern unamused expression as he hovered behind Dean, making sure he wouldn’t die. Dean kissed his sorrys into Cas’s temple and got squirms and laughter in reply, which told him all that he needed to know.

Dorothy went next, and then a laughing Charlie. But it was safe to say all of the Winchesters and their plus ones were absolutely blown away off the face of the earth when little good-girl Jess tied her hair back, stuck that handstand, and chugged at least her own body weight in beer.

They more than likely woke Claire up with how loudly they exploded with cheers.


	20. December Twentieth: Picture It Now

Cas waited until the whole house was asleep and Dean was about to fall into a slumber he was way more than thankful for before he started nudging Dean back awake, murmuring that there was something he wanted to show him. Dean, generally, would rarely ever shake off sleep for anything other than an emergency or potential nakedness, but Cas had been grinning nervously and excitedly, like he had been waiting all day for this, and Dean wasn’t strong with resisting him, so he let Cas tug him out of bed and over to Cas’s closet.

Dean hovered in the doorway as Cas ducked into the walk-in next to Dean’s, emerging after the brief sound of shuffling with a large but thin rectangular wrapped present in his hands, grinning in victory. He gestured for Dean to sit and sunk down in front of him, the gift on his lap.

“If you tell me that you woke me up to show me the present and then announce I can’t have it until Christmas,” Dean told him slowly, “then I’m never going to forgive you.”

Cas snorted, smirking because it was exactly what he had done their first Christmas together, but he just shook his head, fingers nervously rubbing against the wrapping paper. The paper was decorated with little angels, wings and haloes and harps. It was so characteristically _Cas_ that Dean couldn’t help but to smile.

“No,” Cas told him, somehow managing to look a perfect split of bouncingly excited and horribly nervous. “I’m impatient. I can’t wait to give this to you. And I—I want to see your face and I don’t want you to be embarrassed because other people are there and—”

“What is it?” Dean asked, glancing hesitantly to the present like it might be an explosive.

Cas opened his mouth like he was considering just saying it, and then he suddenly slammed his jaw shut, instead shoving the present into Dean’s lap. It was pretty heavy, which just stupefied Dean even more, having absolutely no guesses. Cas started to blush red as he leaned away from Dean, crossing his arms like he did when he was feeling uncomfortable.

“Open it,” Cas urged him when Dean just stared.

Dean, suddenly having absolutely no idea what to expect, pulled at the folds on the side, out of habit. Mary used to laugh at the way Dean opened presents, always expecting the more excitable of her sons to just go to town and start ripping at the paper frantically, but Dean always took it meticulously, ripping it at the tape and folding the paper back as much as possible, always afraid to rip too much of it. Sam ended up being the one that was too impatient, and just ripped the paper off as quickly as possible.

Cas sat patiently, knowing Dean’s gift-opening quirks by now, and Dean pulled at the corners and tore it enough to pull it free of the wrapping. The moment he did, getting a good look at it, he froze.

Cas immediately flew into panic mode.

“I didn’t know what to get you for Christmas and I was starting to panic and then we went into the attic and found all of those pictures and it gave me an idea,” Cas started ranting, looking worried. “When you were at work I went up there again and started digging up some photo albums, and I pulled some of my favorites out of it and got copies made and put them in that.” He nodded anxiously at the dozen-picture frame collage that Dean was holding in his lap, still trying to find words. “I figured we could put it up in the bedroom or hallway or living room, wherever you wanted it.”

Dean turned his gaze back down to the picture frame, his heart in his throat. There was a picture of Dean’s whole family before John left them for a new wife and kid when Dean was ten, and then a picture of Dean and Sam wearing two different gowns for two different graduations, and a picture of Sam and Dean and Jo as kids, and of Charlie and Dean LARPing, and of that one time where Bobby smiled sandwiched between Sam and Dean with their arms around the grumpy man’s shoulders. There was a picture of Mary holding a baby Dean in the hospital, smiling brightly up at the camera, and there was a picture of Dean and Benny at the counter of Benny’s café and of Dean and Sam and Jess on their wedding day.

And then there was a picture of him and Cas and Hannah and Charlie from the Halloween they dressed up as Charlie’s Angels, and there was a picture Dean took of Cas when they went to Washington DC lounging on the steps of the Lincoln memorial.

And then there was a picture of just a few days ago, when Dean and Claire were sitting on the couch watching Rudolf, Claire grinning over at Dean and mimicking him in that way he was seating and his posture and how his arms were crossed, Dean obliviously laughing at whatever was happening on the screen.

And then, right in the middle, in what felt like the biggest picture, there was the picture of him and Cas wearing those god-awful Goodwill sweaters, and Dean thought he was going to burst into tears.

“Is it okay?” Cas asked anxiously, and Dean hadn’t realized the silence had dragged on for as long as it had, feeling like time had stopped, feeling like his heart was going to burst from his chest.

“Cas,” Dean said, but his voice broke. He looked up at Cas, wide-eyed. “Oh my god, Cas, it’s amazing. I love it so much. I love _you_.”

“Oh,” Cas said, and then smiled in relief. “Oh, good. I thought you were having a stroke.”

“Cas,” Dean said again, because he would never be able to say it enough, and he gingerly placed the picture frame to the side so he could reach for Cas, pulling him by the shirtfront onto his lap and wrapping his arms so tightly around him he was afraid he would bruise him. “Cas, baby, I love it.”

“I didn’t know how you would react to my snooping in the attic,” Cas admitted softly against Dean’s neck, nuzzling closer when Dean’s hands flexed tighter. “I didn’t know if you’d like it.”

“Of course I like it,” Dean admonished, pulling away to put his forehead against Cas’s, looking into a sea of blue. “Cas, I would love absolutely anything you gave me.”

Cas smiled a little before leaning forward and kissing Dean, bringing his hands up to cup his face.

“In that case,” Cas murmured, smiling sheepishly, “I also got you another one of these. But it’s blank. I—I figured we could fill it up slowly, together. Like, as time goes on. Because I—I want there to be a thousand more memories, and—”

“Cas,” Dean whispered, “stop talking and kiss me before I start crying.”

Cas laughed a little, a watery sound, before he obliged.


	21. December Twenty-First: As Long As You Love Me So

As much as Dean loved Claire, it was a goddamn blessing when his mother offered to look after her and the house, shooing Dean and Cas out the door with the excuse of them working too hard. The freedom was so unknown to them that they literally hadn’t known what to do. They’d idled in the Impala for a solid ten minutes before Cas looked at him, shrugged, and said, “Wanna go get some coffee?”

Dean and Cas lived together calmly without many visitors for about eleven months out of the year, but it didn’t feel like this, like not knowing how to leave the house. Every day felt like happily existing together, like sinking into a warm bath, and they worked on their lives and they came together at night and in the mornings and everything about them was as effortless as breathing.

It wasn’t until halfway to the coffee shop that Dean realized it had been months since they had been on a proper date.

If they went out, they always went out with friends, Cas rather reclusive and preferring to stay in the comfort of their own home and Dean willing to do absolutely anything Cas wanted to with no problem. But Dean had also watched ten thousand too many romantic comedies and he knew what would happen if they ever lost the “spark”, and Dean was _so_ not going to start performing any spontaneous musical numbers or take a trip to Europe for the hell of it. Mostly because he knew, if it meant Cas would stay, he would actually do it.

So maybe this could be better for them than originally anticipated.

Dean pulled into a spot at the front of the establishment, moving around the car as quickly as he could to hold Cas’s door open for him, smirking at the other man as he rolled his eyes and smiled, catching on to what Dean was doing. Cas waited for Dean to take his hand before pulling him into the coffee shop, the smell of ground coffee beans soothing while simultaneously making Dean’s sensory memory think that he was going to be late to work. Cas pulled them to the counter and ordered for them both, even reluctantly letting Dean pay for it. The barista just smiled at them, spotting their intertwined hands, and gave them a wink when she handed them their drinks.

Dean and Cas posted up on a comfortable couch in the corner of the shop a little out of the way of the buzz, sitting close enough together that Dean’s thigh touched Cas’s and he had to wind an arm around Cas’s shoulders if he wanted to use it. Cas snuggled up into Dean’s side, laying his head on his shoulder.

“Remember a time when we didn’t have kids?” Cas sighed wistfully.

“ _We_ don’t have _kids_ , babe,” Dean pointed out, laughing. “ _You_ are biologically associated to the one.”

“Same thing,” Cas replied, nudging his head deeper into the junction between Dean’s shoulder and his neck, his coffee virtually forgotten. “And don’t even bother trying to play it off like Claire’s not your kid.”

“I might have to pay Anna to babysit this summer if this is how exhausted we are after a week of parenting,” Dean murmured, taking a long swig of coffee, and Cas nodded in agreement into Dean’s skin. “I really do love having Claire here, though. She’s such a mini-you.”

“I was doing a few read-throughs of my manuscript yesterday and she walked in, read over my shoulder, and pointed to a sentence just to tell me it was a run-on,” Cas informed Dean, grimacing. “I think I’ve influenced her too well. She’s learning too fast. I fear that soon she will be too much for one government, even one nation, to handle.”

Dean laughed loudly because he’d pretty much been thinking the same thing for himself all week.

“I’ve missed her,” Cas sighed, pulling away only to start sipping at his own cup, his leg and side still pressed firmly against Dean’s. “I’m more than a little thankful for Amelia’s engagement, since she is more willing to part with Claire for a few weeks now that she has three new kids running around her house.”

Amelia must have gotten engaged about six months ago now to a guy she had been seeing since around her and Cas’s amicable split. He was a banker and a single dad with three kids, the youngest two years older than Claire. Dean had been on the other end of more than one phone call from Amelia sighing over how she was never going to be able to keep up with all of them. Dean was also the one who picked up when Amelia called to sigh over the fact that her fiancé had somehow convinced her to have _more_ of them once they tied the knot.

“We should just steal Claire,” Dean declared.

“Dean, I am not kidnapping my own daughter,” Cas deadpanned, narrowing his eyes.

“ _Legally_ steal her,” Dean clarified with a laugh. “If she wants to, I mean. I think we should at least let Claire know our door is always open since—you never know, maybe she won’t like her step-siblings and will want to get away in a few years—and, I mean—I wouldn’t mind—I think she would like living here. If that’s what she wanted.”

Dean stared down at his cup, shifting uncomfortably. Cas just stared at him, face blank, for nearly a full minute.

“You’d want Claire to come live with us fulltime,” Cas summarized in one sentence, still not reacting.

Dean started panicking. “I mean, I’m the biggest mama’s boy like ever, so I would get it if she wouldn’t want to leave her mom, and I’m still considering a transfer to Chicago or Gary or something, but I know that—I just want her to know that our door is always open, and I wanted _you_ to know that I would love it if she wanted to stay, even if I’m making way too many presumptions about if _she_ would want to at all—”

Cas dove at Dean, nearly ending up on his lap as he threw his arms around his neck and kissed him hard. Dean held his cup far from their bodies while moving one of his arms up Cas’s back, tracing the ridges of the other man’s spine, feeling Cas smiling against his lips.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know that?” Cas murmured, pressing his forehead against Dean’s and staring into his eyes beseechingly, like he would do whatever it took just for Dean to understand a fraction of how much he loved him. Dean’s heart swelled at the thought that Cas loved him more than even a third of how much Dean was head over heels for him, his hand tightening on Cas’s back. “Dean, you—you really have no idea how much it means to me to hear you say that.”

“I’m not trying to win brownie points,” Dean suddenly felt it necessary to assure Cas. “I’m just being honest.”

“You’re just being _you_ ,” Cas said like Dean was the most precious thing, with an intensity that made Dean’s ears start heating up in the beginning of a blush. Cas kissed the tip of his nose before settling back into Dean’s side, probably so that they didn’t get kicked out of the shop, and burrowed closer, not needing to say anything more, resting his head peacefully against Dean’s chest. Dean ducked to kiss him on the top of his head before leaning back into the couch, listening to the sound of other lives moving in harmony around them.

Dean took a sip of coffee, thinking about where they were this time last year and how far they have come since the start—thinking about a shy guy in a suit and trench coat that nervously met his gaze across a crowded room, smiling as Dean hypnotically made his way closer, Cas’s before they had even said a word, knowing that this was it without having to know much else. Holding Cas now and watching other people’s lives move on the same way theirs would, watching the world turning around its axis again and again and watching the seconds to keep on ticking time away, Dean thought of all of the minutes and struggles and words it took to get _here_ , sitting on this couch in a coffee shop thinking about the family they both loved and adored at home—and Dean wished for a million more of these moments, just like this. Just like it was always meant to be.


	22. December Twenty-Second: Just Like Heaven

“There’s a trick to this, Claire,” Dean educated the girl, skewering a marshmallow on the tip of the metal rod and holding it over the burning gas stovetop turned up super high. “There’s only two ways to properly roast a marshmallow—you either burn it crispy on the outside and super gooey on the inside, or you wait forever to get one that will never be as good as the burnt one. Got that?”

She nodded solemnly.

“And don’t forget to have the rest of the s’more ready before you plop the marshmallow onto it,” Dean added. “That way, once the marshmallow is done, you can just start eating.”

“Okay.”

“Did your mom and dad really never teach you this?”

“Anthony tried to teach me,” Claire informed him, referencing to Amelia’s fiancé, her nose crunching up. “But he told me not to burn it.”

“Claire, I hate to sound like I know better than him, but, about this? I know better, and Anthony is wrong.”

Once again, Claire nodded solemnly.

“Does Cas know you brainwash his child when he leaves the house?” Sam asked, smirking, from the kitchen table where he was mulling over some documents he had brought on vacation with him because he’s a freak of nature. Dean casted his brother the stink eye before using the marshmallow on the rod to use as a pointer, jabbing it at Sam.

“I am _not_ brainwashing,” Dean replied indignantly. “These are important life lessons. They are important for her development.”

“Do you want a s’more, Sam?” Claire asked, completely missing the argument, batting her eyelashes up at the Sasquatch. He beamed down at her.

“I would love one.”

“You’re gonna get an undercooked one for that show of disrespect, Samuel,” Dean told him, his eyes still narrowed like he was suspicious of Sam and his values. Which, sometimes, when he saw the healthy stuff the kid eats, he kind of _was_. Sam just rolled his eyes, knowing that Dean wouldn’t sacrifice a good s’more even if his little brother was being a total tool.

Cas didn’t walk into the door until three s’mores later and one upset stomach (Sam’s, to which he just drank a liter of water and kept eating, because he’s a freak) and, by then, they were already all standing at the stovetop with their fourth marshmallows. He took one look at them and sighed.

“Dean,” he said, sighing again. “Dinner.”

“Cas,” Dean replied, widening his eyes. “ _S’mores_.”

Cas scowled at him unhappily, even when Claire handed Dean her skewer and scampered across the room, grabbing his hand and tugging him over. Wide eyed, she took the marshmallow back and plopped it onto a pre-made s’more, offering it up to her father as a peace offering with an expression much too innocent. Cas squinted down at her.

“How many have you had?” he demanded.

“None,” she replied seriously, even though there was chocolate smeared around her mouth.

Cas frowned but accepted the s’more, taking one bite before handing it back, staring Dean down as he chewed. Sam shook with silent laughter from the other side of the stove, looking pleased just at acting like the world’s largest fly on the wall.

“I certainly wasn’t the one that taught her how to lie,” Cas announced accusatorily, squinting even harder at Dean.

Dean sighed. “We’ve talked about this, Cas. Kids can’t be taught to lie—they learn how to lie _because_ they’re kids.”

Sam started shaking harder.

Cas and Dean stared each other down, neither of them blinking.

“That one’s mine,” Cas declared, pointing to the marshmallow Dean was roasting.

“Ugh,” Dean eloquently replied, but surrendered it anyway. “Also, we don’t have to worry about dinner. Mom, Bobby, and Jess are coming back with pizzas. And more marshmallows.”

“S’more s’mores,” Claire realized, eyes widening.

“Atta girl,” Dean praised, mussing her hair and grinning down at her proudly. “Soon, we will move onto puns.”

She nodded obediently before taking a giant inelegant bite of her s’more.

Cas leaned against the counter next to Dean, taking a bite of the s’more he had taken hostage before offering it out to Dean, not even looking, not even seeming like he was thinking about it. Dean leaned over to kiss him on the cheek before taking the bite offered, edging his hand on the counter over so his pinky finger could hook around Cas’s.

Cas smiled around his next bite of the s’more, having nothing bad to say as Claire started lecturing Sam about his choice of dark chocolate over milk chocolate, shifting his shoulder so it brushed against Dean’s, and they just stood there together for a moment, as if to catch a breath in the whirlwind of their lives.

And then Mary and Bobby were bursting through the door with at least twenty shopping bags, and Jess followed closely behind holding five pizzas, calling out, “Who’s hungry?”

Dean and Cas just smiled at each other before Dean went for the pizza and Cas went for the paper plates, getting back to action.


	23. December Twenty-Third: Cheers

“It’s technically Christmas Eve,” Cas argued, pointing toward the box under the television, where it read 12:04. “Come on, Dean, why not? It’s just eggnog.”

“Castiel Novak,” Dean began, eyebrows soaring. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“No,” Cas lied, widening his eyes innocently.

“I’m not telling you what I got you for Christmas,” Dean announced, but he still reached out and took the glass offered to him anyway. Cas sank down with a dramatic sigh on the couch next to him, the whole house silent—the last person up, Jess, had gone to bed an hour ago. “Stop sighing, I’m still not telling you.”

“I gave you _your_ present early,” Cas whined, pouting out his bottom lip. “Maybe you could just _tell_ me what it is?”

“Nope,” Dean said, popping the ‘p’, and grinned when Cas’s frown deepened. “And you’re not getting a hint either,” he remembered to add, knowing that would be what Cas would ask for next and, sure enough, Cas groaned like his plot to assassinate Archduke Ferdinand had been thwarted.

“I’m so _curious_ ,” Cas admitted, throwing his legs over Dean’s lap and leaning back into the arm of the couch, holding his glass of eggnog with both hands. “I’ve been trying to guess. You know I hate surprises, Dean.”

“Too bad,” Dean hummed, smirking as he took another sip.

To be honest, no matter how many times in the last few weeks Dean has been tempted to forgo the plan and the ring and just drop to one knee, Dean was starting to get really nervous about Christmas morning. Now that he was only about thirty hours away from D-Day, he was starting to feel the major intense panic settling in. Reality seemed a lot more real all of a sudden. It wasn’t anymore just wondering what he was going to do, it was actually having to _plan_ it, to select his words and walk through the steps again and again to the point that he was practically obsessing about it. Charlie had to talk him down from a handful of panics already, and it only felt like it was getting worse and worse as the time went on.

Cas nudged Dean’s thigh with his foot. Dean hadn’t even realized he had spaced out.

“What are you thinking about?” Cas asked, tilting his head curiously, an endearing motion of curiosity that melted Dean’s heart every single time. “Do you think I won’t like it or something?”

That was _one_ of the things that was on Dean’s mind constantly. Would he like the ring, should Dean say a big speech or just stick with the question, did Cas even want to get married again? Dean hadn’t been able to sleep peacefully in the last three nights wondering about all of those questions, sitting up and holding Cas’s sleeping form to him tightly as he considered all of the possible ways this could go wrong.

Because Dean was _terrified_ it would go wrong. At this point, so many things in his life had, so he could hardly think that this would be the exception. And Dean didn’t know if he would be able to recover if he asked Cas to marry him and Cas said no.

“Kind of, yeah,” Dean answered Cas’s question, making sure to remain vague but he needed to talk even a little bit about this, because there was only so many times Charlie could tell him that he was worrying over nothing. Cas’s face crumped in pity, and he reached out his free hand to lay it on Dean’s, squeezing.

“Don’t worry about that, Dean,” Cas commanded him, eyes like blue flames. “Never, okay? No matter what you get me, I’m gonna love it because it’s from _you_ , alright? And you haven’t ever done badly on a gift for anyone yet in your entire life, so don’t talk yourself into thinking it now, you hear me?”

Dean almost wanted to ask him now, like he had been considering asking him for days, _What do you think about marriage?,_ because they hadn’t talked about it since Amelia got engaged, and they hadn’t been talking about the prospect of themselves in that position. Cas had talked about how his and Amelia’s marriage had been a sham and how much he regretted what he put her through the same way she regretted the same for him, but he had never specifically told Dean that he would want to get married again and he never told him he didn’t.

Dean knew that Cas loved him, but would Cas want to marry him?

Dean took a long drink and almost wished it were stronger.

“Do you want to know _why_ I’m going to love it?” Cas demanded when Dean didn’t respond, crawling over to him on the couch and sitting practically on Dean’s lap, winding his arms around Dean’s neck and leaning closer to press his lips to Dean’s jaw. “Because you care so much that you’re worried about it. That’s how I _know_ I’m going to love it, because you care enough to put this much thought and emotion into it, the same way you do everything in your life.” Cas kissed his jaw again, nuzzling his nose against his skin. “I trust you.”

Cas brought the hand holding his drink back to his body, holding it in the air with raised eyebrows centered on Dean. Dean still had a million and one thoughts wandering through his head but he still grinned, bringing his own cup up and tapping the brims together in a toast.

“Merry Christmas Eve, Dean,” Cas murmured.

“Merry Christmas Eve, Cas,” Dean whispered, sneaking forward to steal a kiss.


	24. December Twenty-Four: A Creature Stirs

Everyone had gone to bed an hour ago, exhausted by a day out on the town for their Christmas Eve, to a little festival that had been thrown on a fair ground. There had been booths in a tent and ice-skating and organized snowball fights, and it had looked like Claire was in heaven when she saw a competition for snowman building. Her, Sam, Cas, and Mary had managed to build one of the largest snowmen in the bunch, taking home a solid second place.

The day had been exhausting and the morning was destined to be even more so, so they all had called it a day a little earlier than normal and took to getting as much sleep as possible, since Claire was probably going to be rising at the crack of dawn, even if they weren’t going to start opening presents until Charlie got there at eight. But Dean had only managed to lie in bed long enough for Cas to fall asleep with his head on his chest before he had maneuvered his way out from underneath of him, wandering through the silent house before he sank down on the couch, and he had been sitting there staring into the distance for what felt like hours, thinking.

He thought about the ring in its box sitting at the bottom of his jeans drawer.

He shifted forward, burying his head in his hands, leaning with his elbows on his knees as he tried to breathe, tried to get the room to stop spinning with his heartbeat that wouldn’t still.

In the dead silent house, the squeaking stair sounded like a nuclear explosion.

Dean turned on the couch already smiling guilty, fully believing that it would be Cas wandering to find him, noticing him gone in bed. Instead, rounding the corner in princess pajamas, clinging to a teddy bear, it was Claire.

“What’re you doing up, sleepy head?” Dean asked as the young girl saw him through a yawn. She immediately padded over to hop up onto the couch and tuck herself into Dean’s side. Dean wound an arm around her, pulling her close.

“I thought I heard a sound in the closet, even if Daddy told me he had already checked,” she confessed honestly, and Dean grinned. “And then I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“You know, Santa doesn’t come if you’re awake,” he pointed out.

“You’re awake, too,” she argued better.

Dean couldn’t fault her that logic. “I couldn’t sleep, either.”

“Why not?” she asked, looking up at him. There weren’t any lights on in the living room but it was still eleven o’clock, so the glow from the Christmas lights next door lit up the room just enough for Dean to see the girl’s wide eyes. Dean paused, considering just telling her an ambiguous lie, and then reminded himself of one of the major concerns he’d had over what would happen tomorrow morning, so he didn’t. He just took a moment to hesitate, considering how to properly answer that.

“I’m worried about something I have to ask your dad,” he finally confessed, letting it out into the universe. She squinted up at him, frowning, not understanding because she was still so, so young.

“What do you have to ask him?” she asked, shifting so that she could crawl on his lap, leaning her head against his chest. He wound his arms around her, putting his chin on top of her head.

“You know how your mom and Anthony were seeing each other for a while, and then he gave her that ring and asked her to marry him?”

She nodded.

“How would you feel if I asked your dad?”

Claire looked up at him, surprised. Her eyes were like saucers.

Dean’s stomach immediately dipped somewhere around the second layer of the earth. He shouldn’t have asked. Oh, shit, he _totally_ shouldn’t have asked. He didn’t want to hear this answer. Dean barely had the time to lock down for impact as the shocked first grader opened her mouth, eyes practically bulging out of her skull.

“Can I be the flower girl?” she whispered, awed.

Dean blinked slowly.

Well, that wasn’t what he was expecting.

“You wouldn’t mind?” he asked hesitantly.

She shook her head vigorously, her face breaking into a bright smile that could have parted rain clouds, practically shaking in excitement. “Dean, please, can I be flower girl?”

“He has to say yes first,” Dean pointed out, skin feeling too hot.

Claire didn’t even acknowledge Dean’s doubts. “Are you gonna take him out to dinner?” Claire demanded. “Anthony took Mommy out to dinner.”

“I was thinking about asking him tomorrow morning, actually,” Dean told her, turning red. “Sometime after breakfast and presents.”

“Can I be the distraction?” Claire asked.

Dean considered that. It wasn’t a bad idea.

“You think you can lure everyone into the kitchen with Charlie?”

She gave him a look like ‘ _what do you think?’_

“Then you’re hired, shorty,” Dean told her, mussing up her hair. She giggled, pushing his hand away. “But you better get to sleep, alright? It’s late, and you’re gonna have an early start tomorrow. Plus, we gotta give Santa enough time to come.”

She nodded happily. “Shelley and Tyler told me that Santa wasn’t real,” she informed him, referencing Anthony’s kids, who Amelia had once explained to be absolute horrible heathens raised by their mother before Anthony won custody. Dean looked down to meet Claire’s eyes.

“What liars,” he said, and she beamed at him happily.

He lifted her off of the couch and onto her feet, pushing himself onto his feet as well. He took her hand as he led her upstairs, checking the closet when she whispered the earnest request for him to, and he kissed her on the forehead before ducking out of her room, letting the door shut quietly behind him. Dean leaned back on her door for a minute, looking at his and Cas’s door on the other end of the hall, and he finally pushed himself away after a handful of seconds.

Dean reached to open the door at the same time that it swung open to reveal a sleep-rumpled Cas standing on the other side, frowning, his hair a mess and his eyes puffy with sleep. He jumped initially at Dean’s sudden appearance but soon smiled, looking lethargic.

“I rolled over and you weren’t there,” he murmured, glancing out to the hallway. “Did I hear Claire?”

“I heard her up,” Dean fibbed, reaching out and softly pulling Cas back to bed by the hand, Cas’s fingers instantly slotting against his. He was warm. “And then I had to double-check her closet for some Christmas-unfriendly monsters.”

“Hmm,” Cas murmured, not even seeming to hear him, nuzzling his face in Dean’s chest as they reached the bed. Dean smiled and lowered them both onto the bed, not letting go of Cas as they burrowed under the covers, pulling them to their chins. Cas pulled himself closer to Dean by his shirt, murmuring nonsense into the skin of his neck before sighing happily, relaxing. Dean leaned down and kissed the top of Cas’s head, holding him even tighter.

“Night, Cas,” Dean whispered and, together, they drifted off to sleep.


	25. December Twenty-Fifth: White Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's to the end! I hope you all enjoyed the story, and thank you so much for reading! Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and a happy New Year to all of you lovely, amazing people!
> 
> xo Kay

They made it until five minutes after seven in the morning before Claire barreled into their room like a cannon, waking them with exciting screaming and bed-jumping and cheering that Santa had been there (which included Cas rolling out of bed at four in the morning and carting four armfuls of presents downstairs as Dean kept a lookout for the second bedroom’s door). The minute that Claire was sure that they were up, the two of them dragging themselves from bed, she leaped out of the room and thundered down the hallway to wake up the rest of Dean’s family.

“Here we go,” Cas murmured, grinning over at Dean as he exchanged his t-shirt for one of Dean’s Henleys, black to go with the red and green plaid pajama pants, and Dean’s heart skipped a beat as Cas bounded over to kiss him on the cheek before following Claire’s yells downstairs, letting the bedroom door swing shut behind him. Dean took a deep breath, staring at where Cas had walked away without blinking.

“Yeah,” Dean murmured, pulling on a pair of black sweatpants and a white t-shirt, reaching up to rub at his face. He pulled open the jeans drawer in his dresser and grabbed the velvet box, turning it over in his hands a few times before he stuffed it into one of his pockets, fingers shaking. “Here we go.”

*

When Charlie showed up about an hour, she couldn’t stop grinning. She took one look at Dean, whose nerves probably showed on his face despite his best attempts, and she had to bite her lip hard to keep from laughing, only managing it due to the threatening glare Dean sent her way moments before Cas drifted into the room to welcome them and wish them a merry Christmas.

The Christmas morning ritual flew by in a bit of a blur, even though it took quite a bit of time. Despite that they ate first—pancakes courtesy of Dean, just as his mother taught him, which earned him more than one bright proud grin from Mary—with Claire constantly bemoaning the tradition in anticipation of digging into the gifts tucked underneath of the tree. But, soon enough, once Sam had been dragged away from admiring his hair in the mirror, they all gathered in the living room and exchanged gifts, Cas grinning wide and constantly snapping pictures as they did, making Claire stop after every unwrapping to pose with the gift, which began to show in the impatience on her face. Dean just sat back grinning and watching his family interact, holding a cup of warm coffee in between his palms and feeling the weight of the box in his pockets like a million tons. And the nerves were still there, still strong—but Dean couldn’t stop smiling.

The only thing Dean wanted for Christmas was the promise that he could have this every single year for the rest of his life. He had been worried for weeks, but now he was looking at his life and he knew what the next step was. And he didn’t feel nearly as nervous anymore.

He thought of the picture frame that Cas gave him, waiting to be filled, and was ready to get a start on making those new memories.

Might as well start with this one.

Dean didn’t know if Charlie and Claire had somehow actually planned anything, but they definitely looked like they were scheming when Mary and Jess offered to do the breakfast dishes, no matter how much Cas protested, and Charlie and Dorothy immediately volunteered to help. Claire took one look at Dean, seemed to see that he was straightening up and pushing himself off of the couch, his eyes on Cas, because she immediately grabbed Sam’s and Bobby’s hand and started dragging them to the kitchen, talking their ears off about something or another as Cas busied himself with picking up some of the wayward wrapping paper. Sam was the only one that caught on, his eyes darting to Dean as Claire pulled him away, and he took one look at whatever expression was on Dean’s face and his hand stuffed in his pocket and his eyes widened impossibly, mouth gaping open until they disappeared behind the swinging door to the kitchen.

And then, suddenly, Dean was alone with Cas, and this was the moment.

“How does wrapping paper always end up everywhere?” Cas asked him as he straightened up, dropping two armfuls of discarded paper into the trash bag they had dragged into the room, now half-full. “It doesn’t seem like that much when you’re wrapping stuff up.”

“Cas,” Dean said.

Cas seemed to sense something was different about the way Dean said his name, because he turned to look at him with a bright smile, eyes dancing in mischief.

“Am I gonna get my present now?” he teased, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Dean rolled his eyes in response, grinning despite the tension that stiffened his shoulders and made his hands shake.

Dean had a feeling he might’ve been imagining things, but he could have sworn he heard Charlie whisper “shh!” from the kitchen.

“So I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” Dean began slowly, taking a half step closer. Cas watched him, curious. “I’ve been thinking a lot about family, and a lot about the people who mean the most to me. I’ve thought a lot about all of the things in my life that I don’t want to lose. And I think it’s about time I asked you a question.”

“Dean,” Cas whispered, disbelieving, even as Dean slowly dropped to one knee, his hands coming up to cover his mouth in shock. His eyes were wide, dancing with a million different emotions. Dean’s heart skipped a beat as he pulled the ring box out of his pocket and opening it, presenting it to Cas. Cas’s eyes flickered to the ring before moving back to Dean’s eyes, hands still over his mouth.

“You are the absolute best person I have ever met in the entire world,” Dean told Cas honestly, his voice wobbling just a little bit. “You make _me_ want to be better. Cas, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I would do absolutely _anything_ for you. I love you so much, more than I can even say, because there are no words for how happy you make me. I don’t even know why it’s taken me this long, honestly, because I knew from the day I met you that you were it.”

Dean paused, staring up at Cas. His eyes were glassy with yet-unshed tears.

“Castiel Novak,” Dean murmured like a loving caress. “Will you marry me?”

Cas was nodding wildly before Dean was barely finished asking the question, hands pulling from his mouth as he let out a watery laugh, tears rolling down his cheeks as he kept nodding, kept smiling, his joy lighting up his entire face and crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Yes, Dean, of course I will,” Cas told him, laughing again. “Oh my god, a thousand times yes!”

“Oh thank god,” Dean couldn’t help but to reply, smiling in absolute relief as he pushed himself back onto his feet, pulling the ring from the box and holding a hand out for Cas’s left one, and Cas placed it in his, reaching up to slap a hand over his mouth again, tears nonstop. Dean slipped the ring onto Cas’s finger, holding his breath, and he looked up at Cas. Cas was already looking at him, smile wide and gummy, and his hands were loving and soft as they framed Dean’s face, pulling him in. Dean mirrored him, holding Cas’s face in his hands like Cas is something precious, because he _is_ , and pulling him in for a kiss of gratitude, love, and a promise of what’s to come.

The kitchen door swung open barely three seconds after their lips touched and Claire demanded, “Dean, did he say yes?”

“He did indeed,” Dean confirmed with a laugh, pulling away from Cas as Claire came racing at him, ducking down to let her throw her arms around him. He picked her up, swinging her around. Cas laughed, reaching up to rub at his cheeks and his eyes as the rest of their guests tumbled out of the kitchen, all at maximum levels of excitement and happiness. Dean was a little more than horrified to see Sam was crying.

Sam didn’t even wait for Dean to let Claire down, just swooped in and scooped the two of them into a tight bear hug. From in between them, Claire giggled.

“Congrats, Dean,” Sam murmured, slapping him on the back hard as Mary dove for Cas, throwing her arms tightly around him and making squealing sounds. Cas laughed and hugged her back just as tightly.

“Welcome to the family, officially, sweetheart,” Mary told Cas, voice choked up, and she pulled away only far enough to look into his eyes as she sternly added, “You take care of him, you hear? Now it’s for forever.”

“Of course, Mary,” Cas whispered, looking like he was going to cry again, and Mary hugged him harder.

Dean watched them over Sam’s shoulder, smiling wide.

Sam didn’t pull away until Claire started wriggling a few seconds later, freeing up Dean for an unexpected embrace from Bobby, who practically flew out of nowhere to throw his arms around Dean. Bobby thumped him hard on the back with a murmur of, “Good job, son.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Dean replied back softly, Bobby moving away as Dean’s mom came out of nowhere, rocketing out of the surrounding people talking and congratulating loudly to wrap her arms around him, kissing him hard on the side of the head. Dean spotted Cas holding onto Claire as he accepted congratulations from Charlie and Dorothy, both of the Novaks absolutely beaming and just as happy as Dean always wanted them to be, and Dean felt his heart swell.

“I’m so glad you found someone that you love so much,” Mary whispered into Dean’s ear, squeezing harder. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted for you and more. He’s more than worthy for your amazingly big heart, Dean.”

“Don’t I know it,” Dean laughed, pulling back to kiss her on the forehead.

Mary stepped aside for Charlie and Dorothy, who didn’t so much as come up and congratulate him as they did dive at him, hang off him like he was a tree, and throw out way more “I told you so”s than Dean thought physically possible in ten seconds.

Jess leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, and winked at him when they both realized that was the end of his family obligation, and he barely had the time to glance around the crowd before Cas was materializing at his side, arms free, and he immediately slinked up to Dean’s side and threw his arms around him, burying his head in Dean’s chest. Dean laughed and wound his arms around Cas’s shoulder, rocking gently to the music of White Christmas, never wanting to let go and ignoring the smirks from the people around them.

Dean leaned in closer, pressing a kiss to Cas’s neck.

“I love you,” Dean breathed.

“I love you too,” Cas replied just as softly, leaning his head closer. They heard a muffled sarcastic “aww” from Charlie, which immediately turned into a muttered curse. Dean ignored them, content with keeping his eyes closed and just holding Cas, ignorant to the world, even when Claire couldn’t help but to giggle the way she always did when she saw them do something she thought was adorable and intimate. It just made Dean smile even wider.

“What do you say, Cas?” Dean murmured into his ear, grinning like a total idiot. “This time next year?”

Cas turned his head until his nose bumped with Dean’s, meeting his eyes and smiling wide as he shifted closer, moving in step with the music and pressing against Dean’s front, twisting his arms to around Dean’s waist, and he dipped forward to press a kiss over Dean’s heart before he whispered back, “It’s a date.”

And then, because Cas could never go a day without surprising him, Cas leaned back and held up a bundle of mistletoe.

Somewhere in the background, in the world outside of their protective little bubble, Sam howled with laughter.

“You’re an absolute menace,” Dean told his fiancé honestly.

Cas grinned wickedly before grabbing hold of his shirt with one hand and tugging him even closer, still dangling the mistletoe over their heads. “Shut up and kiss me, Dean Winchester,” Cas murmured against his lips.

And damn if Dean didn’t need to be told twice.

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr: shortenedlanguage.tumblr.com
> 
> x Slang


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